GUNNAR 


A    TALE  OF  NORSE  LIFE 


BY 

HJALMAR  HJORTH   BOYESEN 


Fourth  Edition, 


* 


NEW   YORK 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

743  &  745  BROADWAY 
I880 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  187'A, 

BY   JAMES   11.    OSGOOD    AND   COMPANY, 
in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge  : 
Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  anil  Company. 


TO 

IVAN   S.   TOURGUENEFF, 

WITH    THE    LOVE,   GRATITUDE,  AND    REVERENCE 
OF 

THE    AUTHOR. 


46871.4 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

I.    THE  LAKE 9 

II.    HENJUMHEI 19 

III.  THE  GARDMAN  FOLKS 34 

IV.  LAYS  AND  LEGENDS 48 

V.    EARLY  EXPERIENCES 63 

VI.    RHYME-OLA 84 

VII.    ST.  JOHN'S  EVE        .        .        .        .        .        .101 

VIII.    GROWTH 118 

IX.    THE  SKEE-RACE 138 

X.    PARISH  GOSSIP 165 

XI.    THE  WEDDING  OF  THE  WILD-DUCK.       .       .  183 

XII.    THREE  YEARS  LATER 204 

XIII.  RHYME-OLA'S  MESSAGE 221 

XIV.  AT  THE  PARSONAGE 237 

XV.    THE  RETURN 254 

XVI.    A  SUNDAY  AT  RIMUL 276 

XVII.    THE  OCEAN                                                    .  290 


GUNNAR  :  A  NORSE  ROMANCE. 


i. 

THE  LAKE. 

|AE  up  under  the  snow-line,  where  the 
sun  seldom  rises,  and,  when  it  rises, 
seldom  sets,  is  a  lake.  In  the  long 
summer  days,  grave  fir-trees  and  barren  rocks, 
wearing  on  their  brows  the  wrinkles  of  centuries, 
reflect  their  rugged  heads  in  its  mirror ;  but  it  is 
not  often  that  gentle  spring  and  summer  find 
their  way  hither  on  their  wanderings  round  the 
earth,  and  when  they  do,  their  stay  is  brief. 
And  again  winter  blows  his  icy  breath  over  the 
mountains ;  stiff  and  dead  lie  the  waters,  and  the 
1* 


10  GUNNAR. 


fir-trees  sigh  under  the  burden  of  the  heavy 
snow. 

At  the  northern  end  of  the  lake,  the  Yokul, 
the  son  of  winter,  lifts  his  mighty  head  above  the 
clouds,  and  looks  in  cold  contempt  down  upon  the 
world  below ;  with  his  arms,  the  long,  freezing 
glaciers,  he  embraces  the  landscape  around  him, 
hugging  it  tightly  to  his  frosty  bosom. 

On  the  eastern  side  the  rocks  open  wide  enough 
for  a  little  brook  to  escape  from  the  mountains 
into  the  valley ;  and  as  it  runs  chattering  between 
the  ferns  and  under  the  tree-roots,  it  tells  them 
from  year  to  year  an  endless  tale  of  the  longings 
of  the  lake  and  of  the  despotic  sway  of  the  stern 
old  Yokul.  But  once  every  3rear,  when  spring 
comes  with  merry  birds  and  sunshine,  the  little 
brook  feels  itself  larger  and  stronger,  and  it  swells 
with  joy,  and  bounds  laughing  over  the  crooked 
tree-roots,  and  throws  in  its  wantonness  a  kiss  of 
good-by  to  its  old  friends,  the  ferns.  Every  spring 
the  brook  is  glad  ;  for  it  knows  it  will  join  the 
river,  it  knows  it  will  reach  the  ocean. 

"  The  flood  is  coming,"  said  the  old  people  in 


THE  LAKE.  \\ 


the  valley,  and  they  built  a  dam  in  the  opening 
of  the  rocks,  where  the  brook  had  flowed,  and 
stopped  it.  Farther  down  they  put  up  a  little 
mill  with  a  large  water-wheel,  which  had  years 
ago  belonged  to  another  mill,  so  that  the  whole 
now  looked  like  a  child  with  its  grandfather's 
hat  and  spectacles  on. 

"Now  we  will  make  the  brook  of  some  use," 
said  they;  and  every  time  the  lake  rose  to  the 
edge  of  the  dam,  they  opened  the  flood-gate ;  the 
water  rushed  down  on  the  mill,  the  water-wheel 
turned  round  and  round,  and  the  mill-stones 
ground  the  grain  into  flour.  So  the  brook  was 
made  of  use. 

But  up  on  the  mountain  the  snow  lay  deep 
yet,  and  the  bear  slept  undisturbed  in  his  wintry 
cave.  Snow  loaded  the  branches  of  the  pines, 
and  the  ice  was  cold  and  heavy  on  the  bosom 
of  the  lake.  For  spring  had  not  yet  come  there ; 
it  always  came  first  to  the  old  folks  down  in  the 
valley.  It  was  on  its  way  now  up  the  mountain- 
side. 

A  mild  breeze  stole  over  the  rocks  and  through 


12  GUNNAR. 


the  forest ;  the  old  fir  shook  her  branches  and  rose 
upright.  Masses  of  snow  fell  down  on  the  rock ; 
they  rolled  and  grew,  as  they  rolled,  until  with 
a  heavy  thump  they  reached  the  lake.  A  loud 
crash  shot  through  the  ice  from  shore  to  shore. 

A  few  sunbeams  came  straggling  in  through 
the  forest,  struck  the  fir,  and  glittered  on  the 
ice,  where  the  wind  had  swept  it  bare. 

"Spring  is  coming,"  said  the  old  tree,  doubt- 
ing whether  to  trust  her  own  eyes  or  not ;  for  it 
was  long  since  she  had  seen  the  spring.  And 
she  straightened  herself  once  more,  and  shook 
her  tough  old  branches  again. 

"Spring  is  coming,"  she  repeated,  still  speak- 
ing to  herself;  but  the  stiff  pine,  standing  hard 
by,  heard  the  news,  and  she  told  it  to  the  birch, 
the  birch  to  the  dry  bulrushes,  and  the  bulrushes 
to  the  lake. 

"  Spring  is  coming,"  rustled  the  bulrushes,  and 
they  trembled  with  joy.  The  lake  heard  it,  and 
its  bosom  heaved ;  for  it  had  longed  for  the 
spring.  And  the  wind  heard  it,  and  whispered 
the  message  of  joy,  wherever  it  came,  to  the 


THE  LAKE.  1 


rocks,    to   the    glaciers,    and    to   the    old   Yokul. 
"Spring  is  coming,"  said  the  wind. 

And  the  lake  wondered ;  for  it  thought  of  the 
swallows  of  last  spring,  and  of  what  the  swallows 
had  said.  "Far  from  here,"  chirped  the  swal- 
lows, "  is  the  great  ocean ;  and  there  are  no  pine- 
trees  there,  no  firs  to  darken  the  light  of  the 
sun,  no  cold  and  haughty  Yokul  to  freeze  the 
waters." 

"No  firs  and  no  YokulT'  said  the  lake,  won- 
dering, for  it  had  never  seen  anything  but  the 
firs  and  the  Yokul. 

"And  no  rocks  to  bound  the  sight  and  hinder 
the  motion,"  added  the  swallows. 

"  And  no  rocks ! "  exclaimed  the  lake ;  and  from 
that  time  it  thought  of  nothing  but  the  ocean. 

For  two  long  years  the  lake  had  been  think- 
ing, until  at  last  it  thought  it  would  like  to  tell 
somebody  what  it  had  been  thinking;  the  old 
fir  looked  so  wise  and  intelligent,  it  felt  sure 
that  the  fir  would  like  to  know  something  about 
the  ocean.  But  then  it  wondered  again  what  it 
had  to  tell  the  fir  about  the  ocean,  and  how  it 


14  GUtiNAR. 


should  tell  it,  until  at  last  spring  came,  and  it 
had  not  yet  spoken.  Then  the  fir  spoke. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about]"  said  the  fir. 

"About  the  ocean,"  answered  the  lake. 

"  The  ocean  ! "  repeated  the  fir,  in  a  tone  of 
inexpressible  contempt ;  "  what  is  the  use  of 
thinking  about  the  ocean  1  Why  don't  you  think 
of  the  mill  ? " 

"Have  you  ever  seen  the  ocean?"  asked  the 
lake,  timidly. 

"  Seen  the  ocean  1  No  ;  but  I  have  seen  the 
mill,  and  that  is  a  great  deal  better."  And  the 
fir  shrugged  her  great  shoulders,  as  if  pitying 
both  the  ocean  and  those  that  could  waste  a 
thought  on  it. 

Then  for  a  long  time  the  lake  was  silent,  until 
it  felt  that  it  could  no  longer  hold  its  peace ; 
then  it  spoke.  This  time,  it  thought  it  would 
speak  to  the  pine ;  the  pine  was  younger  and 
might  perhaps  itself  once  have  had  longings  for 
the  ocean. 

"Have  you  ever  longed  for  the  ocean V  said 
the  lake  to  the  pine. 


THE  LAKE.  15 


"  I  have  longed  for  the  mill,"  answered  the 
pine,  harshly,  and  its  voice  sounded  cold  and 
shrill;  "and  that  is  what  you  had  better  long 
for  too,"  it  added.  The  pine  looked  down  into 
the  clear  water,  and  saw  its  own  image ;  it 
shook  its  stately  branches  and  seemed  greatly 
pleased  with  its  own  appearance. 

"But,"  began  the  lake  again,  "would  you  not 
like  to  see  the  ocean?" 

"No,"  cried  the  pine,  "my  father  and  my 
father's  father  grew  up,  lived,  and  died  here ; 
they  never  saw  the  ocean,  and  they  were  just 
as  well  off  without  it.  What  would  be  the  use 
of  seeing  the  ocean  1 " 

"I  do  not  know,"  sighed  the  lake,  and  was 
silent;  and  from  that  time  it  never  spoke  about 
the  ocean,  but  it  thought  the  more  of  it,  and 
longed  for  the  spring  and  the  swallows. 

It  was  early  in  June.  The  sun  rose  and 
shone  warm  on  the  Yokul,  night  and  day.  To 
the  lake  it  seldom  came,  only  now  and  then  a 
few  rays  would  go  astray  in  the  forest,  peep 
forth  between  the  rugged  trunks,  and  flash  in 


16  GUNNAR 


the  water;  then  hope  swelled  in  the  bosom  of 
the  lake,  and  it  knew  that  spring  was  coming. 

At  last  came  spring,  and  with  it  the  sea- 
winds  and  the  swallows.  And  every  evening, 
when  the  sun  shone  red  and  dreamy,  the  lake 
would  hear  the  sea-wind  sing  its  strange  songs 
about  the  great  ocean,  and  about  the  tempests 
that  lifted  its  waves  to  the  sky;  it  would  listen 
to  the  swallows,  as  they  told  their  wonder-stories 
of  the  blooming  lands  beyond  the  ocean,  where 
there  were  no  firs,  no  rocks,  and  no  Yokul,  but 
in  their  stead  palm-trees  with  broad  glittering 
leaves  and  sweet  fruits,  beautiful  gardens  and 
sunshiny  hills,  looking  out  over  the  great  bound- 
less ocean. 

"  And,"  said  the  swallows,  "  there  is  never  any 
snow  and  ice  there ;  always  light  and  sunshine." 

"Always  light  and  sunshine ?"  asked  the  lake, 
wondering;  and  its  thoughts  and  its  longings 
grew  toward  the  great  ocean  and  that  sunshiny 
land  beyond  it. 

The  sun  rose  higher  and  shone  on  the  Yokul 
warmer  than  ever  before ;  the  Yokul  sparkled  and 


THE  LAKE.  17 


glittered  in  the  sunshine ;  it  was  almost  merry, 
for  it  smiled  at  the  sun's  trying  to  melt  it. 

"  It  is  no  use  trying,"  said  the  Yokul  ;  "  I  have 
been  standing  here  so  long  now,  that  it  is  of  no 
use  trying  to  change  me."  But  change  it  did, 
although  it  was  too  stubborn  to  own  it;  for  it 
sent  great  swelling  rivers  down  its  sides,  down 
into  the  valley  and  into  the  lake. 

And  as  the  sun  rose,  the  lake  grew ;  for  there 
was  strength  in  the  sunshine.  The  old  fir  shook 
her  head,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders ;  but  still 
the  lake  kept  growing,  growing  up  over  her  feet, 
until  the  old  fir  stood  in  the  water  above  her 
knees.  Then  she  lost  her  patience. 

"What   in    all   the    world   are    you   thinking 
about1?"  exclaimed  the  old  tree. 

"About  the  ocean,"  said  the  lake;  "0  that  I 
could  see  the  ocean  ! " 

"  Come,"  whispered  the  sea-wind,  dancing  down 
over  the  mountain-side,  "  come  to  the  ocean." 

"Come,"  chirped  the  swallows,  "come  to  the 
ocean." 

"I  am  coming,"  said  the  lake,  and  it  rushed 


18  GUNNAR. 


-.upon  the  dam;  the  barrier  creaked  and  broke. 
The  lake  drew  a  full  breath,  and  onward  it  leaped, 
onward  over  the  old  mill,  which  tottered  and  fell ; 
onward  through  fields  and  meadows,  through  for- 
ests and  plains ;  onward  it  rushed,  onward  to  the 
ocean. 


II. 

HENJUMHEI. 

|HERE  the  valley  is  narrowest,  the  moun- 
tain steepest,  and  the  river  swiftest,  lies 
Henjumhei.  The  cottage  itself  is  small 
and  frail,  and  smaller  and  frailer  still  it  looks 
with  that  huge  rock  stooping  over  it,  and  the 
river  roaring  and  foaming  below  ;  it  seems  almost 
ready  to  fall.  The  river,  indeed,  seems  to  regard 
it  as  an  easy  prey ;  for  every  spring,  when  it  feels 
lusty  and  strong,  it  draws  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  cottage,  flings  its  angry  foam  in  through  the 
narrow  window-holes,  and  would  perhaps  long 
ago  have  hurled  the  moss-grown  beams  down  over 
its  brawling  rapids,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  old 
rock,  which  always  frowns  more  sternly  than  ever 
when  the  river  draws  too  near  the  cottage.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  same  fear  of  the  river  which 


20  GUNNAR. 


induced  Gunnar  Thorsou  Henjurnhei,  Thor  Gun- 
narson's  father,  to  plant  two  great  beams  against 
the  eastern  and  western  walls ;  there  is  now  but 
little  danger  of  its  falling,  and  Thor  Gunnarson 
has  lived  there  nearly  ten  years  since  his  father, 
Gunnar,  felled  that  great  fir,  which  felled  himself, 
so  that  he  had  to  be  brought  home  to  die.  Now, 
how  old  Gunnar,  who  was  known  to  be  the  best 
lumberman  in  all  the  valley,  could  have  managed 
to  get  that  trunk  over  his  neck,  was  a  matter 
which  no  one  pretended  to  understand,  except 
Gunhild,  his  widow ;  and  every  one  knew  that  she 
was  a  wise  woman.  This  was  what  she  said  :  — 

"  There  was  an  old  fir,  the  finest  mast  that  ever 
struck  root  on  this  side  the  mountains ;  but  the 
tree  was  charmed,  and  no  one  dared  to  fell  it :  for 
it  belonged  to  the  Hulder,*  and  it  was  from  the 

*  The  Hulder  is  a  kind  of  personification  of  the  forest; 
she  is  described  as  a  maiden  of  wonderful  beauty,  and  only  in 
this  respect  different  from  her  mortal  sisters,  that  she  lias  a 
long  cow's-tail  attached  to  her  beautiful  frame.  This  is  the 
grief  of  her  life.  She  is  always  longing  for  the  society  of  mor- 
tals, often  ensnares  young  men  by  her  beauty,  but  again  and 
again  the  tail  interferes  by  betraying  her  real  nature.  She  is 
the  protecting  genius  of  the  cattle. 


H EN J  UMBEL  21 


top  of  that  old  fir  that  she  called  with  her  loor  * 
her  herds  of  motley  cattle ;  many  a  time  she  had 
been  seen  sitting  there  at  eventide,  counting  her 
flocks,  and  playing  her  mournful  loor  until  not  a 
calf  or  a  kid  was  missing.  No  man  had  dared  to 
fell  the  tree,  for  it  would  have  been  that  man's 
death.  Then  there  came  one  day  a  lumber-mer- 
chant from  town;  he  saw  the  mast  and  offered 
two  hundred  silver  dollars  for  it.  Old  Lars  Hen- 
jum  said  he  might  have  it,  if  he  could  find  the 
man  who  had  the  courage  to  fell  it.  Now,  that 
thing  was  never  made  which  Gunnar  was  afraid 
of,  and  he  would  like  to  see  the  woman,  said  he, 
either  with  tail  or  without  it,  who  could  scare 
him  from  doing  what  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
do.  So  he  felled  the  mast,  and  paid  with  his  life 
for  his  boldness.  For  behind  the  mast  stood  the 
Hulder,  and  it  was  not  for  nothing  that  the  last 
stroke  of  the  axe  brought  the  huge  trunk  down 
on  the  lumberman's  head.  Since  then  ill  luck 


*  The  loor  is  a  straight  birch-bark  horn,  widening  toward 
one  end.  It  is  from  three  to  six  feet  long,  and  is  used  for 
calling  the  cattle  home  at  evening. 


22  GUNNAR. 


has  ever  followed  the  family,  and  ever  will  follow 
it,"  said  old  Guuhild. 

Before  his  father  s  death  Thor  Henjumhei  had 
been  the  first  dancer  and  the  best  fighter  in  all 
the  valley.  People  thought  him  a  wild  fellow, 
and  the  old  folks  shrugged  their  shoulders  at  his 
bold  tricks  and  at  his  absurd  ideas  of  going  to  sea 
to  visit  foreign  countries,  or  of  enlisting  as  a  soldier 
and  fighting  in  unknown  worlds.  Why  did  he 
not,  like  a  sensible  man,  marry  and  settle  down 
as  his  father  and  his  father's  father  had  done 
before  him,  and  work  like  them  for  his  living, 
instead  of  talking  of  the  sea  and  foreign  coun- 
tries ?  This  puzzled  the  good  old  folks  considera- 
bly; but  in  spite  of  their  professed  dislike  for 
Thor,  they  could  never  help  talking  about  him; 
and,  in  spite  of  all  his  wildness,  they  could  not 
help  owning  that  there  really  was  something 
about  him  which  made  even  his  faults  attractive. 
Strange  it  was,  also,  that,  although  Thor  was  only 
a  houseman's*  son,  many  a  gardman's  wife  had 

*  In  the  rural  districts  of  Norway  there  is  sharp  distinc- 
tion between  a  "gardman,"  or  a  man  who  owns  his  laud,  and 


HENJUMHEI.  23 


been  seen  smiling  graciously  upon  him  when  her 
fair  daughter  was  leaning  on  his  arm  in  the  whirl- 
ing spring-dance.  But  since  the  day  he  had 
found  his  father  in  the  forest,  bloody  and  sense- 
less, under  the  Hulder's  fir,  no  one  recognized  in 
him  the  old  Thor.  He  settled  down  in  the 
little  cottage  by  the  river,  married  according  to 
his  mother's  wish,  worked  as  hard  and  as  steadily 
as  a  plough-horse,  and  nevermore  mentioned  the 
sea  or  foreign  countries.  Old  Gunhild  was  hap- 
pier than  ever;  for,  although  she  had  lost  her 
husband  (poor  soul,  anybody  might  have  known 
that  he  would  come  to  a  sudden  end),  she  had 
found  her  son.  And  as  for  Birgit,  her  daughter- 
in-law,  she  was  the  gentlest  and  most  obedient 
creature  that  ever  was,  and  did  exactly  as  Gun- 
hild bade  her ;  thus  they  lived  together  in  peace 
and  unity,  and  were  not  even  known  to  have  had 
a  single  quarrel,  which  is  a  most  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance, considering  that  they  were  daughter-in- 

a  "houseman,"  who  pays  the  rent  of  his  house  and  an  adjoin- 
ing piece  of  land  large  enough  to  feed  a  cow  or  two,  by 
working  a  certain  number  of  weeks  or  months  a  year  for  the 
gardman. 


24  GUNNAR. 


law  and  mother-in-law,  and  lived  under  the  same 
roof  and  even  in  the  same  room.  But  Birgit  had 
as  firm  a  belief  in  Gunhild's  superiority  of  sense 
and  judgment  as  she  had  in  the  old  silver-clasped 
Bible  or  in  Martin  Luther's  Catechism,  and  would 
no  more  have  thought  of  questioning  the  one 
than  the  other.  Her  husband  she  had  never 
known  in  his  wild  days,  and  although  she  had 
heard  people  tell  about  the  gay  and  daring  lad, 
who  could  kick  the  rafter  in  the  loftiest  ceiling, 
and  on  whose  arm  the  proudest  maiden  was 
fain  to  rest,  she  somehow  never  could  persuade 
herself  to  believe  it.  To  her  he  always  remained 
the  stern,  silent  Thor,  to  whom  she  looked  up 
with  an  almost  reverential  admiration,  and  whose 
very  silence  she  considered  the  most  unmistaka- 
ble proof  of  superior  wisdom. 

Nearly  a  year  had  Birgit  been  at  Henjumhei, 
and  Christmas  came  round  again.  It  was  on 
Christmas  eve  that  Gunnar  Thorson  was  born; 
for  of  course  the  boy  was  christened  Gunnar, 
after  his  grandfather.  Thor  came  home  late 
from  the  woods  that  night.  Gunhild  was  stand- 
ing in  the  door,  looking  for  him. 


HEN J  UMBEL  25 

"  It  is  cold  to-night,  mother,"  said  he,  pulling 
off  his  bear-skin  mittens,  and  putting  his  axe  up 
in  its  old  place  under  the  roof. 

"  You  may  well  say  so,  son,"  said  Gunhild. 

Thor  fixed  an  inquiring  look  on  his  mother's 
face.  She  read  the  look,  and  answered  it  before 
he  had  time  to  ask. 

"  A  boy,"  said  she,  "a  beautiful  child." 

"  A  boy,"  repeated  Thor,  and  his  stern  features 
brightened  as  he  spoke.  He  took  off  his  cap 
before  he  went  in  that  night.  Gunhild  followed. 

"  Wonderful  child,  indeed,"  said  she,  "  born  on 
a  Christmas  eve."  Then  she  went  out  again,  took 
a  large  knife,  polished  it  until  it  shone  like  silver, 
and  stuck  it  with  the  point  in  the  door. 

"Now,  thank  God,"  muttered  she  to  herself, 
"  the  child  is  safe  and  no  hill-people  *  will  dare  to 
change  it." 

Days  came  and  days  went,  and  a  month  had 

*  The  hill-people  are  a  kind  of  ugly  pygmies  with  big  heads 
and  small  bodies.  They  often  steal  new-born  infants  and  place 
their  own  in  the  plundered  cradle.  Such  changelings  have  large 
glassy  eyes  with  a  blank  stare,  and  eat  immensely,  but  never 
grow  very  large,  and  can  never  learn  to  speak. 

2 


26  GUNNAR. 


passed.  The  child  grew,  and  the  mother  failed  ; 
and  every  night  when  Thor  came  home  from  his 
work  he  looked  more  and  more  troubled.  Gun- 
hild  saw  it. 

"  When  spring  has  crossed  the  mountains,  she 
will  get  well,"  said  she. 

But  spring  came  ;  the  sun  shone  bright  and 
warm  on  the  Yokul  and  the  western  glaciers ;  the 
icy  peaks  reflected  its  light  into  the  narrow  val- 
ley, and  the  Yokul  sparkled  like  a  crystal  palace. 

"  Xow  spring  is  coming,"  said  Gunhild. 

It  was  early  in  June,  and  spring's  first  flower 
came  just  in  time  to  adorn  Birgit's  coffin.  All 
the  neighbors  were  at  the  funeral;  and  no  man 
who  saw  the  dense  crowd  in  the  churchyard 
would  have  supposed  that  this  was  the  funeral  of 
a  houseman's  wife.  When  the  ceremony  was  over, 
the  pastor  came  up  to  shake  hands  with  Thor  and 
Gunhild. 

"  A  hard  loss,  Thor,"  said  the  pastor. 

"  A  hard  loss,  father,"  said  Thor. 

"  Unexpected  ] " 

"Unexpected.     Mother  thought  spring  would 


EENJUMHEL  27 


make  her  well."  His  lip  quivered,  and  he  turned 
abruptly  round. 

"  And  spring  did  make  her  well,  Thor,"  said  the 
pastor,  warmly,  grasping  Thor's  hand  and  giving 
it  a  hearty  parting  shake. 

If  the  cottage  of  Henjumhei  had  ever  seen 
such  wild  deeds  as  it  did  while  that  boy  was  grow- 
ing up,  it  surely  must  have  been  very  long  ago. 
For  there  was  no  spot  from  the  chimney-top  to 
the  cellar  to  which  he  did  not  scramble.  "  And 
it  certainly  is  a  wonder,"  said  his  grandmother, 
"  that  he  does  not  break  his  neck,  and  tear  the 
house  down  ten  times  a  day."  The  cottage  con- 
tained only  one  room,  with  an  open  hearth  in  a 
corner,  and  two  beds,  one  above  the  other,  both 
built  between  the  wall  and  two  posts  reaching 
from  the  floor  to  the  roof.  There  was  no  ceiling, 
but  long  smoky  beams  crossing  the  cottage.  A 
few  feet  above  these  were  nailed  a  dozen  boards 
or  more,  crosswise  from  one  rafter  in  the  roof  to 
another  on  the  opposite  side.  This  is  called 
Hemsedal,  or  the  bed  where  strangers  sleep. 
There  the  beggar  and  the  wanderer  may  always 


28  GUNNAR. 


find  a  sack  of  straw  and  a  bed  of  pine  branches 
whereon  to  rest  their  weary  limbs.  These  beams 
were  Gunnar's  special  delight.  He  was  not  many 
years  old,  before  he  could  get  up  there  by  climb- 
ing the  door ;  each  beam  had  its  own  name  from 
stories  which  his  grandmother  had  told  him,  and 
he  sat  there  and  talked  with  them  for  hours 
together.  On  the  one  nearest  the  hearth  was  an 
old  saddle  which  had  been  hanging  there  from 
immemorial  times  j  its  name  was  "  Fox,"  and  on 
it  he  rode  every  day  over  mountains,  seas,  and 
forests  to  free  the  beautiful  princess  who  was 
guarded  by  the  Trold  with  three  heads. 

In  the  winter,  as  soon  as  the  short  daylight 
faded,  he  would  spend  hours  in  Hemsedal;  and 
to  his  grandmother's  inquiry  about  what  he  was 
doing  there,  he  would  always  answer  that  he  was 
looking  at  the  dark.  Although  Gunhild  never 
liked  to  have  the  boy  sit  up  there,  and  often  was 
herself  frightened  at  the  strange  things  he  said, 
she  never  dared  bid  him  come  down  ;  for  her 
superstition  peopled  the  cottage  as  well  as  all 
nature  around  her  with  elves  and  fairy  spirits, 


HENJUMHEL  29 


whom  she  would  not  for  any  price  offend.  They 
might,  indeed,  some  time  in  the  boy's  life,  prove  a 
potent  protection  to  him. 

There  was  only  one  thing  which  Gunnar  liked 
better  than  riding  Fox  and  looking  at  the  dark, 
and  that  was  to  listen  to  grandmother's  stories; 
for  grandmother  could  tell  the  most  wonderful 
stories.  Thor  was  very  fond  of  his  son,  but  it 
was  not  his  way  to  show  his  fondness,  and  still 
less  to  speak  of  it ;  but,  though  nothing  was  said, 
it  was  always  understood  that  he  wished  to  have 
the  boy  near  him  in  the  evening  when  the  day's 
work  was  done.  Then  he  would  light  his  old 
clay-pipe,  and  take  his  seat  on  one  side  of  the 
hearth ;  on  the  low  hearth-stone  itself  his  mother 
would  sit,  and  little  Gunnar  on  the  floor  between 
them.  It  was  on  such  evenings,  while  Thor  was 
busily  smoking  and  carving  some  wooden  box  or 
spoon,  and  grandmother  knitting  away  on  her 
stocking,  that  she  would  tell  her  stories  about 
Necken,*  who  had  loved  in  vain,  and  plays  his 

*  As  the  Hialder  is  the  spirit  of  the  forest,  so  Necken  is  the 
spirit  of  the  water.     He  lives  in  the  wildest  cataracts,  where 


30  GUNNAR. 


sad  tunes  in  the  silent  midsummer  night ;  much 
she  knew  also  of  the  Hulder,  whose  beauty  is 
greater  than  mortal  eye  ever  beheld.  But  the 
finest  story  of  all  was  the  one  about  the  poor  boy 
who  walked  thousands  of  miles,  through  endless 
forests  and  over  huge  mountains,  to  kill  the  Trold, 
and  free  the  beautiful  princess.  Gunnar  never 
could  weary  of  that  story,  and  grandmother  had 
to  tell  it  over  and  over  again. 

One  night  Gunhild  had  just  told  of  the  boy 
and  the  princess  for  the  third  time.  The  fire  on 
the  hearth  threw  its  red  lustre  upon  the  group. 
There  was  no  candle  or  lamp  in  the  room,  only  a 
drowsy  stick  of  fir  flickered  from  a  crevice  in  the 
wall.  Gunnar  sat  staring  into  the  dying  embers. 
•  "What  are  you  staring  at,  boy?"  said  his 
father. 

"  0  father,  I  see  the  Trold,  and  the  boy,  and 
the  princess,  and  all  of  them,  right  there  in  the 
fire,"  cried  Gunnar,  eagerly. 


he  plays  his  violin,  or,  according  to  others,  a  harp,  and  he  who 
listens  closely  may  hear  his  wonderful  music  above  the  roaring 
of  the  water. 


HENJVMUEL  31 


"  You  had  better  go  to  bed,"  said  Thor. 

Now  Gunnar  would  have  liked  to  hear  some- 
thing more  about  the  poor  boy,  but  he  durst  not 
disobey ;  so  he  reluctantly  climbed  up  to  his 
grandmother's  bed,  undressed,  and  went  to  sleep. 
But  that  night  he  dreamed  that  the  cottage  was 
an  enchanted  palace,  that  his  grandmother  was 
an  enchanted  princess,  and  his  father  the  three- 
headed  Trold  who  kept  the  charm.  The  next 
morning  he  cautiously  suggested  the  idea  to  his 
grandmother,  whom  he  frightened  so  thoroughly 
that  she  promised  herself  never  in  her  life  to  tell 
the  child  any  Trold-story  again.  And  she  never 
did.  But  the  story  had  made  too  deep  an  im- 
pression upon  the  boy's  mind  ever  to  be  forgotten. 
He  tried  repeatedly  to  learn  more  from  his  grand- 
mother about  the  later  fate  of  the  poor  boy  and 
the  princess ;  but  the  grandmother  always  lost 
her  temper  whenever  he  approached  that  subject, 
and  stubbornly  refused  to  satisfy  his  thirst  for 
knowledge.  Then  he  determined  to  make  explo- 
rations at  his  own  risk ;  for  he  knew  it  would  be 
of  no  use  asking  his  father.  There  must  surely 


32  GUNNAR. 


be  more  than  one  beautiful  princess  in  the  world, 
thought  he,  and  more  than  one  Trold  too ;  and 
he  knew  a  boy  who  would  not  be  afraid  to  meet 
any  number  of  Trolds,  for  the  sake  of  one  beauti- 
ful princess. 

Few  people  ever  came  to  Henjumhei,  for  it  was 
very  much  out  of  the  way,  being  far  from  the 
church-road,  and  the  river  was  too  swift  to  be 
crossed  so  far  up.  Farther  down  the  current  was 
not  so  strong,  and  there  a  skilful  boatman  could 
row  across  without  danger.  Now  and  then  a  beg- 
gar would  find  his  way  up  to  the  cottage,  and,  as 
these  visits  brought  many  bits  of  pleasant  gossip 
and  parish  news,  and,  moreover,  formed  Gunhild's 
only  connection  with  the  world  outside,  through 
the  long  dark  winter,  they  were  always  gratefully 
accepted,  and  the  visitor  never  went  away  unre- 
warded. Of  course  Thor  never  knew  of  what  was 
going  on  in  the  valley,  and  every  girl  in  the  par- 
ish might  have  married,  and  every  other  man 
emigrated,  for  all  he  cared.  He  had  enough  to 
do  with  his  own  affairs,  he  said,  and  so  had  his 
neighbor  with  his.  This  was  a  point  of  constant 


HENJUMHEI.  33 


disagreement  between  Gunhild  and  her  son;  for 
she  was  naturally  of  a  social  disposition,  and  led 
this  lonely  life  more  from  necessity  than  from 
choice.  As  for  Gunnar,  he  knew  nothing  about 
the  people  in  the  valley,  and  consequently  felt  no 
interest  in  them;  but  still  he  enjoyed  the  visits 
of  the  beggars  as  much  as  his  grandmother;  he 
always  looked  upon  them  with  a  kind  of  reveren- 
tial awe,  and  would  not  have  been  in  the  least 
surprised  if  he  had  seen  their  rags  suddenly  turn 
into  gold  and  purple.  The  boy  had  lived  so  long 
in  a  world  of  his  own  imagination,  and  had  had  so 
very  little  to  do  with  the  world  of  reality,  that 
he  was  not  able  to  distinguish  the  one  from  the 
other. 


2* 


III. 

THE  GAKDMAN  FOLKS. 

(BOUT  a  mile  down  the  river,  where  the 
valley  opens  widely  toward  the  fjord  and 
the  sunshine,  lies  Henjum,  the  largest 
estate  within  hundreds  of  miles.  Atle  Larsson 
Henjum  is  the  first  man  in  the  whole  parish,  and 
even  the  pastor  himself  pays  him  his  regular  vis- 
its after  the  Christmas  and  Easter  offerings.  In 
church  he  always  takes  the  foremost  seat,  nearest 
the  pulpit,  and  the  pastor  seldom  commences  his 
sermon  before  Atle  is  in  his  seat.  On  offering- 
days  he  is  always  the  first  man  at  the  altar.  Atle 
Henjum  is  only  a  peasant,  but  he  is  proud  of 
being  a  peasant.  "  My  father  and  my  father's 
father,  and  again  his  father,  as  far  back  as  Saga 
records,  were  peasants,"  he  would  say,  "  so  I  do 
not  see  why  I  should  wish  to  be  anything  else." 


THE  GARDMAN  FOLKS.  35 

Atle  always  likes  to  speak  of  his  father  and  his 
father's  father,  and  he  is  sure  never  to  think  of 
doing  anything  which  they  have  not  done  before 
him.  It  is  because  his  father  always  had  occu- 
pied the  foremost  seat  in  church  that  he  feels 
bound  to  do  it ;  as  for  himself,  it  makes  no  differ- 
ence to  him  where  he  sits.  Everybody  who  could 
remember  Lars  Atleson,  Atle's  father,  said  that 
never  had  a  son  followed  more  closely  in  father's 
footsteps  than  Atle  did.  As  far  back  in  time  as 
memory  goes,  Atle's  ancestors  had  lived  on  Hen- 
jum,  and  their  names  had  been  alternately  Lars 
Atleson  and  Atle  Larsson ;  consequently,  when 
Atle's  son  was  born,  he  would  probably  rather 
have  drowned  him  than  given  him  any  other 
name  than  Lars. 

Henjum  holds  as  commanding  a  position  over 
the  rest  of  the  valley  as  its  lord  over  his  fellow- 
parishioners.  The  fresh-painted,  red,  two-story 
building,  with  its  tall  chimneys  and  slated  roof, 
looks  very  stately  indeed  on  the  gently  sloping 
hillside,  with  the  dark  pine  forest  behind  it  and 
the  light  green  meadows  below. 


36  GUNNAR. 


Atle  Henjum  owned  a  good  deal  more  land 
than  he  could  take  care  of  himself;  more  than 
half  of  his  estate  he  leased  to  his  housemen,  in 
lots  large  enough  to  hold  a  cottage  and  feed  one 
or  two  cows.  These  housemen,  of  which  Thor 
Henjum hei  was  one,  paid  the  lease  of  their  land 
by  working  a  certain  number  of  weeks  on  the 
"  gard,"  as  they  called  the  estate  to  which  they 
and  their  lots  belonged.  Atle  himself  was  thus 
called  the  gardman,  and  his  family  the  gard  man 
folks. 

Atle's  father  and  father's  father  had  been  hard 
workers,  and  so  was  Atle  himself;  and  the  house- 
man who  expected  to  remain  long  in  his  service 
must  follow  his  example ;  next,  he  must  have  no 
will  of  his  own,  but  do  exactly  as  he  was  told, 
without  saying  one  word  for  or  against.  To  this 
.ast  rule,  however,  there  was  one  exception ;  Thor 
Henjumhei  was  a  man  of  as  few  words  as  his 
master,  but  of  all  the  housemen  he  was  the  only 
one  who  was  allowed  to  speak  his  opinion,  or, 
more,  who  was  requested  to  do  so.  There  was  a 
singular  kind  of  friendship  between  the  two, 


THE   GARDMAN  FOLKS.  37 

founded  on  mutual  respect.  Atle  knew  well  that 
Thor  was  as  stiff  and  at  bottom  as  proud  as  him- 
self, and  Thor  had  the  same  conviction  with  re- 
gard to  Atle.  Seldom  was  any  new  land  broken, 
a  fallow  field  sown,  or  a  lumber  bargain  settled, 
before  Thor's  opinion  was  heard. 

Atle  Henjum  had  two  children.  Lars,  the  boy, 
was  by  two  years  the  older ;  he  was  of  just  the 
same  age  as  Thor's  son,  Gunnar.  The  daughter's 
name  was  Gudrun. 

The  Henjum  estate  stretched  straight  to  the 
river,  on  either  side  of  which  was  a  boat-house, 
one  belonging  to  Henjum,  and  the  other  to  Rimul. 
Rimul  was  a  large  and  fine  estate,  though  not 
quite  as  large  as  Henjum;  the  house  was  only  one 
story,  and  did  not  look  half  as  stately  as  the  big 
Henjum  building ;  but  it  had  such  a  friendly  and 
cheerful  look  about  it,  that  nobody  could  help 
wishing  to  step  in,  when  he  chanced  to  pass  by. 
Ingeborg  Rimul  herself  was  the  stateliest  woman 
you  might  see ;  indeed,  she  was  not  Atle  Henj urn's 
sister  for  nothing.  Atle  had  never  had  more  than 
this  one  sister,  and  while  she  was  at  home  he  had 


38  GDNNAR. 


always  been  proud  of  her  stately  growth  and  fair 
appearance.  Of  course  Ingeborg  had  a  suitor  for 
every  finger,  while  she  was  a  maiden ;  but  when 
anybody  asked  her  why  none  of  the  young  lads 
found  favor  with  her  (and  there  were  many  moth- 
ers of  promising  sons  who  put  that  question  to 
her),  she  always  answered  that  she  was  in  no 
hurry.  Then  one  day  a  young  man  from  the 
city  came  to  visit  the  parsonage.  He  had  studied 
for  the  ministry  at  the  University  of  Christiania, 
wore  a  long  silk  tassel  in  his  cap,  and  spectacles 
on  his  nose.  His  name  was  Mr.  Vogt.  He  htfd 
not  been  long  in  the  valley  before  he  discovered  in 
church  a  girl  with  long  golden  hair  and  a  pair  of 
eyes  which  interested  him  exceedingly.  Ingeborg 
received  many  invitations  from  the  parsonage  in 
those  days,  even  so  many  that  Atle  began  to  sus- 
pect mischief,  and  forbade  her  going  there  alto- 
gether. Ingeborg  of  course  dared  not  disobey  her 
brother.  She  never  went  to  the  parsonage  again 
while  Mr.  Vogt  was  there.  But  somebody  thought 
he  had  seen  a  long  silk  tassel  and  a  pair  of  bright 
blue  eyes  down  on  the  shore  late  one  dreamy  sum- 


THE   CARD  MAN  FOLKS.  39 

mer  evening;  and  another,  who  thought  he  had 
seen  more,  was  not  sure  but  it  was  fair  Ingeborg's 
golden  head  he  had  recognized  resting  on  Mr. 
Vogt's  bosom  one  moonlight  night,  under  the 
great  birch-tree  by  the  river.  Whether  true  or 
not,  sure  it  was  that  all  the  valley  was  talking 
about  it ;  but  strange  to  say,  the  last  to  hear  it 
and  the  last  to  believe  it  was  Atle  Henjum.  In 
fact,  it  made  him  so  angry,  when  somebody  con- 
gratulated him  on  his  new  brother-in-law,  that  no 
one  from  that  day  dared  mention  Vogt's  name  in 
his  presence.  But  Atle  also  had  his  eyes  opened 
before  long.  For  one  day  Mr.  Vogt  came  march- 
ing up  the  hills  to  Henjum,  and  asked  to  see  Atle. 
What  passed  between  them  no  one  ever  knew  :  all 
that  was  known  is  that  Mr.  Vogt  left  the  parson- 
age that  very  night,  and  went  back  to  the  city; 
that  Ingeborg,  against  her  custom,  did  not  appear 
either  at  church  or  anywhere  else  for  several  weeks, 
and  that  the  next  time  she  did  appear,  people 
thought  she  looked  a  little  paler,  and  carried  her 
head  somewhat  higher  than  usual.  Before  the  year 
passed  she  was  married  to  Sigurd  Rimul,  who  was 


40  GUNNAR. 


several  years  younger  than  herself.  A  tie  made 
the  wedding,  and  a  grand  wedding  it  was ;  it  last- 
ed from  Wednesday  till  Monday ;  there  was  drink- 
ing and  dancing,  and  both  pastor  and  judge  were 
invited.  Never  had  a  bride  on  this  side  of  the 
mountains  brought  such  a  dowry ;  there  was  wool 
and  linen  and  silver  enough  to  cover  the  road 
from  the  church  to  the  bridal-house ;  so  she  had 
every  reason  to  feel  happy,  and,  if  she  did  not,  it 
was  not  her  fault,  for  she  tried  hard.  Since  that 
time  Mr.  Vogt  was  never  seen,  and  seldom  heard 
of  in  the  valley.  The  parson  told  somebody  who 
asked  for  him,  that  he  had  married  a  wealthy 
man's  daughter,  and  was  settled  as  pastor  of  a 
large  parish  near  the  city. 

It  was  now  about  seven  or  eight  winters  since 
Ingeborg's  wedding;  if  she  had  not  known  sor- 
rows before,  as  indeed  she  had,  her  married  life 
did  not  begin  with  too  bright  a  prospect.  Sigurd 
was  a  good  husband  ;  so  everybody  said,  and  no 
one  was  readier  to  praise  him  than  his  wife. 
People  said,  however,  that  Ingeborg  still  had 
everything  her  own  way,  and  that  Sigurd  had  "  to 


THE  CARD  MAN  FOLKS.  41 

dance  to  his  wife's  pipe."  But  if  anybody  had 
dared  hint  such  a  thing  in  Sigurd's  presence,  there 
is  no  knowing  what  he  might  have  done ;  for,  kind 
and  gentle  as  he  was,  the  saying  was,  that  he  had 
one  tender  point,  and  when  any  one  touched  that 
he  was  wilder  than  a  bear.  Sigurd  was  proud  of 
his  wife ;  he  thought  her  the  most  beautiful  and 
most  perfect  woman  who  ever  lived;  and  he 
would  not  have  been  afraid  to  strike  the  king 
himself,  if  he  had  gainsaid  him  on  that  point. 
Still,  there  were  those  in  the  parish  who  were 
of  a  different  opinion  ;  for  rejected  suitors  are  not 
apt  to  make  very  warm  friends  afterwards,  and 
their  mothers  and  sisters  still  less  so.  To  Inge- 
borg  it  mattered  little  what  people  said  ;  she  car- 
ried her  head  as  high  after  her  wedding  as  she 
had  done  in  her  maiden  days,  and  shook  hands 
with  the  parishioners  on  Sundays  after  service 
as  friendly  as  ever.  Then  something  happened 
which  made  a  change  in  her  life. 

Erick  Skogstad  had  been  one  of  Ingeborg's 
warmest  admirers.  She  had  refused  him  twice, 
but  still  he  did  not  despair.  He  was  present  at 


42  GUNNAR. 


her  wedding,  and  had  been  drunk  even  on  the 
second  day.  The  sixth  winter  after,  he  invited 
Sigurd  and  Ingeborg  to  his  own  wedding.  They 
both  rode  to  church  with  the  bridal  party,  but 
Ingeborg  excused  herself  from  coming  in  the 
evening ;  she  could  not  leave  her  baby,  she  said  ; 
so  Sigurd  went  alone.  The  second  night  more 
than  half  of  the  guests  were  drunk,  and  even  the 
bridegroom  himself  had  clearly  looked  "a  little 
too  deep  into  the  glass."  Sigurd  was  displeased. 
He  left  the  hot,  noisy  hall,  where  the  din  was 
almost  deafening,  and  went  out  into  the  yard  to 
cool  himself.  The  moon  shone  bright,  and  there 
was  a  clear  frost.  He  had  meant  to  steal  away 
unnoticed,  when  the  bridegroom  and  three  or  four 
guests  met  him  in  the  yard  and  stopped  him. 
"  Where  is  your  wife  1 "  asked  Erick. 

"  She  is  at  home." 

"  Why  did  n't  she  come  *?  Perhaps  she  thought 
herself  too  good  to  come  to  Erick  Skogstad's  wed- 
ding." 

"  She  could  not  leave  her  baby,"  replied  Sigurd, 
calmly,  taking  no  notice  of  the  latter  remark. 


THE  GARDMAN  FOLKS.  43 

"  Could  not  leave  her  baby,  hey  1 "  cried  Erick ; 
"  if  she  cannot  leave  her  baby,  then  you  may  tell 
her  from  Erick  Skogstad  not  to  send  her  baby 
to  a  wedding  alone  another  time."  And  seizing 
Sigurd  with  both  hands  by  the  coat-collar,  he 
thrust  his  face  close  up  to  his  and  burst  into  a 
wild  laughter. 

"  What  do  you  mean  1 "  said  Sigurd,  releasing 
himself  from  Erick's  grasp. 

"I  mean  that  you  are  a  baby,  and  that  you 
had  better  go  home  and  put  on  one  of  your  wife's 
petticoats,  and  not  come  here  and  mingle  with 
men."  Erick  was  very  much  amused  at  his  own 
taunts,  and  turned  round  to  his  attendants,  laugh- 
ing. They  all  laughed  and  looked  scornfully  at 
Sigurd.  His  arm  trembled  ;  he  struggled  hard  to 
keep  calm. 

"  You  are  afraid  now,  Sigurd  Rimul,"  cried  the 
bridegroom,  again  seizing  him  by  the  collar. 

"  Never  shall  you  see  the  day  when  Sigurd  Ri- 
mul is  afraid."  A  heavy  blow  sent  Erick  head- 
long to  the  ground  ;  for  a  moment  he  lay  silent 
and  moved  not  a  finger ;  then  with  a  fearful  yell 


44  GUNNAR. 


he  bounded  to  his  feet,  lifted  his  huge  fist,  and 
rushed  furiously  against  his  opponent ;  but  Si- 
gurd was  prepared,  and  warded  off  the  blow  with 
his  arm.  Erick  foamed  with  rage;  he  felt  for 
his  knife,  but  fortunately  it  was  gone,  or  that 
night  might  have  been  a  bloody  one.  Then  with 
both  arms  he  caught  his  guest  round  the  waist, 
and  tried  to  throw  him.  The  other  struggled  to 
free  himself ;  but  before  he  succeeded,  Erick  had 
tripped  him,  and  his  head  struck  heavily  against 
the  frozen  ground,  with  Erick's  large  body  upon 
it.  Erick  rose  and  looked  at  Sigurd :  Sigurd  did 
not  rise. 

It  was  about  midnight.  Ingeborg  was  sitting 
up  writh  her  sick  child ;  she  heard  a  noise  in  the 
hall,  laid  the  child  on  the  bed,  and  opened  the 
door.  Four  men  came  into  the  room  bearing 
something  between  them.  They  laid  her  husband 
upon  the  bed.  "Almighty  God,  what  have  you 
done  with  him?"  she  shrieked. 

"He  quarrelled  with  Erick  Skogstad  and  got 
the  worst  of  it,"  said  one  of  the  men. 

Sigurd   was  never   himself  again.     The  doctor 


THE  GARDMAN  FOLKS.  45 

said  that  he  had  received  a  severe  shock  of  the 
brain.  He  was  like  a  child,  and  hardly  knew 
anybody.  A  year  after  he  died,  and  before  long 
the  oldest  child  followed  him. 

Four  winters  had  passed  since  Ingeborg  buried 
her  husband ;  still  she  was  the  same  stately  wo- 
man to  look  at,  and  people  saw  little  change  in 
her.  Now  she  lived  as  a  rich  widow  on  a  large 
estate,  and  again  people  began  to  whisper  of  suit- 
ors and  wooing.  But  they  soon  ceased,  for  the 
widow  of  Bimul  was  not  backward  in  showing  the 
lads  in  the  valley  that  she  had  not  changed  her 
mind  since  her  maiden  days. 

Ragnhild  Rimul,  Ingeborg's  daughter,  was  fairer 
than  spring.  If  Ingeborg's  hair  had  been  fair  and 
golden,  her  daughter's  was  fairer  still ;  if  Inge- 
borg's eyes  had  been  deep  and  blue,  Ragnhild's 
were  deeper  and  bluer.  The  young  birch  is  light 
and  slender ;  and  when  by  chance  it  grows  alone 
in  the  dark,  heavy  pine  forest,  it  looks  lighter  and 
more  slender.  Eagnhild  was  a  birch  in  the  pine 
forest.  Spring  and  sunshine  were  always  about 
her. 


46  GUNNAR. 


The  sitting-room  at  Rimul  was  large  and  light. 
The  windows  looked  east  and  south,  and  the  floor 
was  always  strewn  with  fresh  juniper-needles.  In 
the  corner  between  the  windows  was  a  little  book- 
shelf with  a  heavy  silver-clasped  Bible,  a  few 
hymn-books,  and  a  "  house-postille,"  or  a  book 
of  daily  devotions.  Under  the  book-shelf  was 
what  Ragnhild  called  her  corner,  where  she  had 
her  little  chair,  and  kept  her  shells,  pieces  of 
broken  china,  and  other  precious  things.  There 
was  no  stove  in  the  room,  but  an  open  hearth, 
before  which  stood  a  large  arm-chair,  which  in 
former  times  had  belonged  to  Sigurd's  father  and 
grandfather,  and  had  been  standing  there  ever 
since.  The  room  had  a  ceiling  of  uupainted 
planks,  and  the  timber  walls  still  retained  the 
pleasant  color  of  fresh-hewn  pine  beams.  A  door 
led  from  the  sitting-room  into  the  chamber  where 
Ingeborg  and  her  daughter  slept.  In  another 
building  across  the  yard  were  the  bams,  the 
stables,  and  the  servant-hall.  The  maids  slept 
in  the  cow-stable,  which  almost  rivalled  the  dwell- 
ing-house in  comfort  and  neatness.  Behind  the 


THE  GARDMAN  FOLKS.  47 

buildings  the  land  rose  more  abruptly  toward  the 
mountains,  but  the  slope  was  overgrown  with 
thick-leaved  groves,  whose  light  foliage  gradually 
shaded  into  the  dark  pine  forest  above.  The 
fields  of  Rimul  reached  from  the  mansion  down 
to  where  the  river  joined  the  fjord. 

Sunshine  had  always  been  scarce  there  in  the 
valley ;  Rimul,  however,  had  the  advantage  of  all 
other  places,  for  the  sun  always  came  first  there 
and  lingered  longest.  Thus  it  had  sun  both  with- 
in and  without. 


IV. 

LAYS  AND  LEGENDS. 

|LD  GUNHILD  had  been  a  good  singer 
in  her  time ;  indeed,  she  had  quite  a 
fine  voice  even  now,  perhaps  a  little 
husky  at  times  and  rather  low  for  a  woman.  But 
Thor  and  Gunnar,  at  least,  both  thought  it  won- 
derfully melodious,  and  there  is  no  doubt  but  it 
was  remarkably  well  adapted  to  the  wild  and 
doleful  lays  it  was  her  wont  to  sing. 

One  winter  night  the  fire  burnt  cheerfully  on 
the  hearth,  and  they  were  all  gathered  round  it  as 
usual ;  Thor  smoking,  and  working  at  his  spoons 
and  boxes,  Gunnar  eagerly  listening  to  his  grand- 
mother's stories. 

"Sing,  now,  grandmother,"  demanded  the  boy, 
as  a  marvellous  Trold-story  had  just  been  fin- 
ished. 


LAYS  AND  LEGENDS.  49 

"  Very  well.  What  do  you  want  1 "  For  grand- 
mother was  always  ready  to  sing. 

"  Something  about  the  Hulder."  And  she  sang 
of  a  young  man  who  lay  down  in  the  woods  to 
sleep,  but  could  not  sleep  for  the  strange  voices 
he  heard  from  flower  and  river  and  mountain ; 
then  over  them  all  stole  the  sad,  joyful,  yearning 
tones  of  the  Hulder's  loor;  and  anon  he  beheld 
a  beautiful  maiden  in  scarlet  bodice  and  golden 
hair,  who  fled  before  him  night  and  day  through 
the  forest,  till  he  heard  the  sound  of  the  Sabbath- 
bell.  He  whispered  the  name  of  Christ :  — 

"  Then  saw  I  the  form  of  the  maiden  fair 
Vanish  as  mist  in  the  morning  air. 

"  With  the  last  toll  of  the  Sabbath-bell 
Gone  was  the  maiden  and  broken  the  spell. 

"  0  young  lads  and  maidens,  beware,  beware, 
In  the  darksome  woods, 
The  treacherous  Hulder  is  playing  there 
In  the  darksome  woods." 

After   running    through    some   wild    mournful 
notes,  Gunhild's  voice  gradually  sank  into  a  low, 
inarticulate  murmur.     Thor's  box  was  no  nearer 
3  D 


50  GUNNAR. 


done  than  when  the  song  commenced,  and  his 
pipe  had  gone  out.  Gunnar's  eyes  rested  dream- 
ily in  the  fire.  For  a  while  they  all  sat  in  silence. 
Gunhild  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"What  are  you  staring  at,  child  1"  said  she. 

Gunnar  did  not  hear. 

"  What  are  you  looking  for  in  the  fire,  child  1 " 
repeated  the'grandmother  a  little  louder.  Gunnar 
seemed  to  wake  up  as  from  some  beautiful  dream, 
which  he  tried  to  keep,  but  could  not. 

"  Why,  grandmother,  what  did  you  do  that 
for  1 "  said  he,  slowly  and  reluctantly  turning  his 
eyes  from  the  flickering  flames. 

"  Do  what,  child  ? "  asked  his  grandmother, 
half  frightened  at  the  strange  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  You  scared  her  away,"  said  he,  gloomily. 

"  Scared  whom  away  1 " 

"The  Hulder  with  scarlet  bodice  and  golden 
hair." 

"  Bless  you,  child  !  Whatever  you  do,  don't 
look  at  me  in  that  way.  Come,  let  the  Hulder 
alone,  and  let  us  talk  about  something  else." 

"  Another  story  1 " 


LAYS  AND  LEGENDS.  51 

"As  you  please,  another  story." 

But  Gunhild  knew  very  little  about  other  things 
than  Necks,  Hulders,  and  fairies,  and  before  long 
she  was  deep  in  another  legend  of  the  same  nature. 
This  was  what  she  told  :  — 

"  He  who  is  sorrowful  knows  Necken,  and  Neck- 
en  knows  him  best  who  is  sorrowful.  When  the 
heart  is  light,  the  ear  is  dull ;  but  when  the  eye 
is  dimmed  by  the  hidden  tear,  then  the  soul  is  in 
the  ear,  and  it  can  hear  voices  hi  the  forest  and 
sea  which  are  dumb  to  the  light-hearted.  I  re- 
member the  day  when  old  Guunar  first  told  me 
that  I  was  fair,  and  said  his  heart  and  his  cottage 
would  always  have  a  place  for  me.  I  was  gay  and 
happy  then ;  my  heart  danced  in  my  bosom,  and 
my  feet  beat  the  time  on  the  ground.  I  went  to 
the  old  cataract.  It  cared  little  for  my  joy ;  it 
looked  cold  and  dreary. 

"  Two  years  from  that  day  the  church-bells 
tolled  over  my  first-born.  My  heart  was  heavy, 
and  my  eye  so  hot  that  it  burned  the  tear  before 
it  could  reach  the  eyelid.  Again  I  sat  on  Necken's 
stone  at  the  cataract,  and  from  the  waters  arose 


52  GUNNAR. 


strange  music,  sad  but  sweet  and  healing,  like 
the  mild  shower  after  the  scorching  heat.  Then 
the  tears  started  and  I  wept,  and  the  music  wept 
too ;  we  wept  together,  and  neither  of  us  knew 
who  stopped  first.  Since  then  I  have  always  loved 
the  old  cataract ;  for  now  I  know  that  it  is  true, 
as  the  legend  says,  that  Necken  plays  his  harp 
there  amid  the  roar  of  the  waters.  And  Necken 
knows  sorrow ;  he  loved,  but  he  loved  in  vain. 

"  Love  is  like  fire,  child ;  love  is  like  fire. 
Wounds  of  fire  are  hard  to  heal ;  harder  still  are 
those  of  love.  Necken  loved  a  mortal  maiden ; 
fair  was  she  like  the  morning,  but  fickle  as  the 
sea-wind.  It  was  a  midsummer  morning  he  saw 
her  last,  and  midsummer  night  she  had  promised 
to  wed  him.  Midsummer  night  came,  but  she 
came  not.  It  is  said  to  be  years  and  years  ago ; 
but  still  the  midsummer  night  has  never  missed 
him,  as  he  raises  his  head  above  the  water,  look- 
ing for  his  bride,  when  the  midnight  hour  strikes. 
Strangely,  then,  do  the  mournful  chords  tremble 
through  the  forests  in  the  lonely  night;  for  he 
calls  his  bride.  If  they  ever  reached  her  ear,  no 


LAYS  AND  LEGENDS.  53 

one  knows;  but  that  lad  or  that  maiden  who 
comes  to  the  cataract  at  the  midnight  hour  will 
hear  the  luring  music,  and  he  who  loves  in  truth 
and  loves  in  sorrow  will  never  go  away  uncom- 
forted.  Many  a  fair  maiden  has  spoken  there  the 
desire  of  her  heart,  and  has  been  heard ;  many  a 
rejected  wooer  came  there  with  a  heart  throbbing 
with  love  and  heavy  with  sorrow ;  he  has  called 
for  help  and  help  he  has  found,  if  he  was  worthy 
thereof.  For  Necken  knows  the  heart  of  man ; 
he  rewards  him  who  is  worthy  of  reward,  and 
punishes  him  who  deserves  punishment.  Many  a 
lad  wooes  a  maiden,  but  loves  her  gold.  Such  also 
have  sought  the  cataract  at  the  midnight  hour ; 
they  have  never  since  been  seen,  for  they  never 
returned.  An  invisible  arm  has  hurled  them  down 
into  the  whirling  pools,  and  their  cries  have  been 
heard  from  afar,  as  they  were  seized  by  the  seeth- 
ing rapids. 

"  Long  ago,  when  my  forehead  was  smooth  like 
the  fjord  in  the  summer  morning,  when  my  cheek 
was  as  fresh  as  the  early  dawn,  and  my  hair  like 
a  wheat-field  in  September,  then  I  knew  a  lad 


54  GUNNAR. 


whom  no  one  will  forget  who  had  ever  seen  him ; 
and  that  lad  was  Saemund  of  Fagerlien.  Never 
eagle,  however  high  its  flight,  was  safe  from  his 
arrow ;  never  bear  made  his  den  too  deep  for  him 
to  find  it;  never  a  beam  was  built  beyond  the 
reach  of  his  heel. 

"  Saernund's  father  was  a  houseman ;  had  no 
farm  for  his  son,  no  silver  spoons  or  costly  linen. 
But  if  you  wanted  to  see  sport,  you  ought  to  have 
gone  to  the  dance  when  Saemund  was  there. 
Never  that  girl  lived,  gardman's  or  houseman's 
daughter,  who  did  not  feel  her  heart  leap  in  her 
bosom  when  he  offered  to  lead  her  in  the  lusty 
spring-dance.  He  never  challenged  a  man  to  fight, 
but  too  late  that  man  repented  who  offered  him 
a  challenge. 

"  The  sun  shone  on  many  fair  maidens  in  those 
days ;  but  strength  is  failing  now,  and  beauty  is 
fading,  and  the  maidens  nowadays  are  not  like 
those  who  lived  before  them.  But  even  then  no 
lad  who  had  cast  his  eyes  on  Margit  of  Elgerfold 
would  wish  to  look  at  another  maiden.  For  when 
she  was  present,  all  others  faded,  like  a  cluster  of 


LAYS  AND  LEGENDS.  55 

pines  when  a  white  birch  sprouts  in  the  midst  of 
them.  Thorkild  of  Elgerfold  was  at  that  time 
surely  the  proudest,  and,  likely  enough,  also 
among  the  richest  in  the  parish.  He  had  no 
other  child  than  Margit,  and  there  was  no  lad  in 
the  valley  he  thought  good  enough  for  her. 

"  I  have  often  heard  old  and  truthful  people  say, 
that  there  were  more  wooers  in  one  week  at  Elger- 
fold in  those  days  than  all  the  other  maidens  of 
the  valley  saw  all  the  year  round.  Old  Thorkild, 
Margit's  father,  did  not  fancy  that  wooing-busi- 
ness  ;  but  Margit  had  always  been  used  to  have 
her  own  way ;  so  it  was  just  as  well  to  say  noth- 
ing about  it. 

"  Then  came  winter,  and  with  winter  came  gay 
feasts,  weddings,  and  merry  dancing-parties.  Of 
course  Margit  was  there,  and  as  for  Saemund,  no 
wedding  or  party  was  complete  without  him ;  they 
might  as  well  have  failed  to  ask  the  bridegroom. 
But  people  would  say,  that  during  that  winter  he 
led  Margit  of  Elgerfold  in  the  dance  perhaps  a 
little  oftener  than  was  agreeable  to  old  Thorkild, 
her  father.  He  was  only  a  houseman's  son,  you 


56  GUNNAR. 


know,  and  she  was  a  rich  man's  daughter.  And 
if  you  did  not  try  to  shut  your  eyes,  you  could 
not  help  noticing  that  Margit's  sparkling  eyes 
never  shone  as  brightly  as  when  Saemund  asked 
her  to  dance,  and  the  smile  on  her  lips  never  was 
sweeter  and  happier  than  when  she  rested  on  his 
arm. 

"When  winter  was  over,  Margit  went  to  the 
saeter*  with  the  cattle;  the  saeter-road  was  quite 
fashionable  that  summer;  probably  it  was  more 
frequented  than  even  the  highway.  And  a  gay 
time  they  had  up  there,  for  there  was  hardly  a 
lad,  gardman's  or  houseman's  son,  who  did  not 
visit  the  saeter  of  Elgerford;  and  especially  on 
Saturday  eves,  scores  of  young  men  would  chance 
to  meet  on  the  saeter-green.  The  girls  from 
the  neighboring  saeters  would  be  sent  for,  and 
the  night  would  be  sure  to  end  with  a  whirl- 
ing spring-dance.  But  one  was  missed  in  the 

*  Saeter  is  a  place  in  the  mountains  where  the  Norwegian 
peasants  spend  their  summers,  pasturing  their  cattle.  In  the 
interior  districts  the  whole  family  generally  goes  to  the  saeter, 
while  in  the  lower  valleys  they  send  only  their  daughters  and 
one  or  more  maid-servants. 


LAYS  AND  LEGENDS.  57 

number  of  Margit's  visitors,  and  that  happened  to 
be  he  who  would  have  been  most  welcome.  Sae- 
mund  had  shouldered  his  gun  and  spent  the  long 
summer  days  hunting.  He  had  never  been  at  the 
saeter  of  Elgerfold ;  and  as  there  were  no  parties 
at  that  season,  he  and  Margit  hardly  ever  saw 
each  other. 

"People  were  busy  talking  at  that  time,  as 
people  always  are.  Why  did  Margit,  said  they, 
before  summer  was  over,  dismiss  every  one  of  her 
suitors,  even  the  sons  of  the  mightiest  men  in  the 
parish  ?  Of  course,  because  she  had  taken  it  into 
her  foolish  head  that  she  wanted  somebody 
who  did  not  want  her,  and  the  only  one  who 
did  not  seem  to  want  her  was  Saemund  of 
Fagerlien.  Now  parish  talk  is  not  altogether  to 
be  trusted,  but  neither  is  it  altogether  to  be  dis- 
believed ;  for  there  always  is  some  truth  at  the 
bottom,  and  the  end  showed  that  this  was  not 
gathered  altogether  from  the  air*  either,  as  the 


*  A  common  expression  in  Norway  for  something  that 
seems  to  have  originated  without  any  apparent  cause  or  foun- 
dation. 

3* 


58  GUNNAR. 


saying  is.  Margit  had  gold,  and  she  had  beauty ; 
but  for  all  that  she  was  but  a  weak  woman,  and 
what  woman's  heart  could  resist  those  bottomless 
eyes  of  Saemund's  1  Surely,  Margit  had  soon 
found  that  she  could  not.  So  she  thought  the 
matter  over,  until  at  last  she  discovered  that 
there  was  hardly  one  thought  in  her  soul  which 
was  not  already  his.  But  what  should  she  do1? 
'  Here  at  home  he  will  never  come  to  see  me,' 
said  she  to  herself,  '  for  he  knows  father  would 
not  like  it.  I  had  better  go  to  the  saeter,  and 
have  the  boys  come  to  visit  me  there  ;  then,  when 
all  the  rest  go,  he  will  hardly  be  the  only  one 
to  stay  away.'  But  summer  came  and  went,  and 
saeter-time  was  nearly  gone.  Yet  he  had  not 
come.  '  This  will  not  do,'  thought  Margit ;  '  per- 
haps he  imagines  I  intend  to  marry  some  one 
of  the  gardmans'  lads,  since  they  come  here  so 

I 

often.'  And  she  dismissed  them  all.  Now  he 
must  surely  come.  But  autumn  came,  and  the 
fall  storms,  the  messengers  of  winter,  swept 
through  the  valley  and  stripped  the  forest  of  its 
beauty.  Yet  he  had  not  come.  It  was  cold  on 


LAYS  AND  LEGENDS.  59 

the  saeter  then,  and  thick  clouds  in  the  east  fore- 
boded snow.  Then  old  Thorkild  himself  went  to 
the  saeter,  and  wanted  to  know  why  his  daughter 
had  not  come  home  with  the  cattle  long  ago. 
It  certainly  was  madness  to  stay  in  the  mountains 
now,  so  late  in  the  season,  when  the  hoar-frost 
covered  the  fields  and  the  pasture  was  nearly 
frozen.  Perhaps  the  hoar-frost  had  touched  Mar- 
git's  cheeks,  too,  for  the  spring-like  roses  were 
fading  fast,  and  the  paleness  of  winter  was  taking 
their  place.  'She  has  caught  a  bad  cold,'  said 
her  father;  'she  stayed  too  late  in  the  moun- 
tains.' 

"  People  seldom  saw  Saemund  that  summer. 
All  they  knew  was  that  he  was  in  the  highlands 
hunting.  Now  and  then  he  would  appear  in  the 
valley  at  the  office  of  the  judge  with  two  or  three 
bear-skins,  and  receive  his  premiums.  Nobody 
could  understand  why  he  did  not  go  to  the  Elger- 
fold  saeter,  like  all  the  other  lads  ;  for  there  was 
no  doubt  he  would  be  welcome.  But  Saemund 
himself  well  knew  why  he  stayed  away.  If  he 
had  not  felt  that  Margit  of  Elgerfold  was  dearer 


60  GUNNAR. 


to  him  than  he  even  liked  to  own  to  himself,  he 
might  perhaps  have  seen  her  oftener.  It  is  only  a 
foolish  fancy,  thought  he,  at  first ;  when  summer 
comes  it  will  pass  away.  But  summer  came,  and 
Saemund  found  that  his  foolish  fancy  was  getting 
the  better  of  him.  He  did  not  know  what  to  make 
of  himself.  How  could  he,  a  low-born  houseman's 
son,  have  the  boldness  to  love  the  fairest  and  rich- 
est heiress  in  all  the  valley  ?  How  could  he  ever 
expect  to  marry  her  ?  The  thought  was  enough 
to  drive  him  mad. 

"  Winter  came,  and  Margit  was  waiting  still. 
Winter  went ;  Saemund  had  not  yet  come.  Spring 
dawned,  the  forest  was  budding,  and  midsummer 
drew  near. 

" '  There  is  no  other  way,'  thought  Margit,  as 
she  sat  in  her  garret-window  and  saw  the  silence 
of  the  midsummer  night  stealing  over  the  fjord, 
the  river,  and  the  distant  forests.  Even  the  roar- 
ing of  the  cataract  sounded  half  smothered  and 
faint.  '  There  is  no  other  way,'  repeated  she. 
'I  will  try,  and  if  I  am  wrong  —  well,  if  I  am 
wrong,  then  may  God  be  merciful  to  me.'  She 


LAYS  AND  LEGENDS.  61 

went  to  the  door  of  her  father's  room  and  lis- 
tened ;  he  slept.  She  wavered  no  longer.  The 
cataract  was  not  far  away;  soon  she  was  there. 
The  doleful  cry  of  an  owl  was  the  first  sound  to 
break  the  silence  ;  she  stopped  and  shuddered,  for 
the  owl  is  a  prophet  of  evil.  Then  an  anxious 
hush  stole  through  the  forest,  and  in  another  mo- 
ment the  silence  was  breathless ;  Margit  listened  ; 
she  heard  but  the  beating  of  her  own  heart,  then 
something  like  a  strange  whispering  hum  below, 
overhead,  and  all  around  her.  She  felt  that  it 
was  the  midnight  hour  coming.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  was  moving,  but  she  knew  not  whither 
her  feet  carried  her.  When  her  sight  cleared,  she 
found  herself  at  the  edge  of  the  cataract.  There 
she  knelt  down. 

"  '  Necken,'  prayed  she,  '  hear  me,  0  hear  me  ! 
Margit's  heart  is  full  of  sorrow,  and  none  but  thou 
canst  help  her.  Long  has  she  loved  Saemund, 
long  has  she  waited,  but  he  would  not  come/ 
'  Margit,  he  has  come,'  whispered  a  well-known 
voice  in  her  ear,  and  Margit  sank  in  Saemund's 
arms.  Long  had  she  waited,  at  last  he  had  come ; 


62 


GUNNAR. 


and  as  their  hearts  and  their  lips  met,  they  heard 
and  they  felt  the  sounds  of  wonderful  harmony. 
It  was  the  tones  of  Necken's  harp.  Both  had 
sought  and  both  had  found  him." 


V. 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES. 

jUNNAR  did  not  like  spelling  half  as 
well  as  his  grandmother's  stories,  and 
Gunhild  had  to  use  all  her  powers  of 
persuasion .  before  she  could  convince  him  of  the 
necessity  of  learning  the  alphabet.  He  soon, 
however,  learned  to  know  the  letters  and  to 
draw  them  on  the  floor,  with  beards,  tails,  and 
other  fanciful  additions.  He  had  an  original  way 
of  attributing  certain  good  or  bad  traits  of  char- 
acter to  each  letter  of  the  alphabet,  and  of  show- 
ing a  decided  favor  for  some  in  preference  to 
others.  He  could  well  understand  why  "Hul- 
der"  should  commence  with  "H,"*  he  said,  for 
the  £>  was  always,  like  the  Hulder,  trying  to 


*  H  in  the  German,  not  in  the  English,  alphabet.     The 
German  alphabet  is  mostly  used  in  Norway. 


64  GUNNAR. 


curl  up  its  tail  to  keep  it  out  of  sight.  But  in 
spite  of  all  difficulties,  and  in  spite  of  all  the  ill- 
treatment  of  the  Catechism,  which  had  to  serve 
both  as  spelling-book  and  for  religious  instruc- 
tion, Gunhild  did  not  give  up ;  and  after  two 
years  of  persevering  toil,  she  at  last  had  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  her  pupil  had  read 
the  book  five  times  through,  and  could  say  the 
Lord's  Prayer  and  Apostles'  Creed  both  forwards 
and  backwards. 

Thor  did  not  think  it  well  for  the  boy  to  stay 
at  home  any  longer  with  his  grandmother;  he 
knew  already  too  much  about  Hulders,  Trolds, 
and  fairies,  and  he  could  hardly  open  his  mouth 
about  anything  else.  He  was  bid  enough  now 
to  be  of  some  use,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  find 
any  one  who  wanted  him  he  would  send  him 
away.  Gunhild  protested,  but  it  was  in  vain  : 
his  mother  might  have  known  that ;  for  Thor 
never  changed  his  mind. 

One  night  he  came  home  and  told  her  that 
he  had  made  arrangements  with  the  widow  of 
Rimul,  who  wanted  Gunnar  to  watch  her  cattle 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES.  65 

iii  the  mountains  through  the  summer;  the  boy 
would  have  to  be  ready  to  start  for  the  saeter 
at  daybreak  the  next  morning.  Gunnar's  heart 
beat  loud  for  joy  when  he  heard  this ;  he  had 
nearly  laughed  right  out,  and  would  have  done 
so,  if  he  had  not  been  afraid  of  offending  his 
grandmother. 

Next  morning  all  rose  with  the  sun.  They 
ate  their  breakfast  in  silence.  When  the  heart 
is  full,  it  is  hard  to  speak.  When  they  were 
about  to  start,  the  grandmother  gave  Gunnar  a 
small  bundle,  with  a  hymn-book,  a  coat,  and  a 
shirt  for  change. 

"The  coat  you  must  only  wear  on  Sundays," 
said  she,  the  tears  nearly  choking  her  voice. 

"When   you    hear   the   church-bells   chime  from 

• 

the  valley,  then  you  must  read  a  hymn  and  the 
gospel  for  the  day  in  the  back  part  of  the  book ; 
then  nothing  evil  can  befall  thee.  On  week-days 
you  must  always  go  in  your  shirt-sleeves,  except 
when  it  is  very  cold."  The  last  advice  Gunnar 
hardly  heard,  he  was  so  anxious  to  be  off. 
Father  and  son  walked  rapidly  down  towards 

E 


66  GUNNAR. 


the  boat-house.  It  was  early  in  June.  The  sun 
shone  brightly,  and  the  morning  fog  was  slowly 
rising  from  the  fields  and  from  the  river.  Gun- 
nar  could  not  help  turning  his  head  often  to 
look  from  a  distance  at  the  old  cottage  which 
he  had  now  quitted  for  the  first  time  in  his  life ; 
and  as  long  as  the  turf-covered  roof  was  in  sight, 
he  could  see  his  grandmother  standing  in  the 
door,  wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes  with  her 
apron.  Gunnar  for  a  moment  was  quite  touched ; 
he  felt  the  tears  starting,  and  it  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  him  that  he  surely  loved  his  grand- 
mother very  much. 

When  they  reached  Atle  Henj urn's  boat-house, 
Thor  untied  a  boat,  and .  they  crossed  the  river. 
Rimul  lay  on  the  hillside,  smiling  in  the  morning 
sun.  The  fjord  looked  as  if  it  wanted  to  speak, 
but  was  too  happy  to  find  expression ;  therefore 
it  remained  silent,  but  gazed  at  the  wanderers 
with  those  strange  speaking  though  speechless 
eyes,  which  no  one  ever  forgets  who  has  ever 
penetrated  to  the  heart  of  Norway. 

There  was  a  great  noise  and  bustle  at  Eimul. 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES.  67 

Everybody,  from  the  mistress  to  the  house-cat, 
seemed  to  be  too  busy  to  take  any  notice  of  Thor 
and  Gunnar,  as  they  passed  through  the  gate  into 
the  yard.  The  boys  were  loading  the  backs  of 
the  horses  with  buckets,  kettles,  blankets,  and 
all  kinds  of  household  utensils ;  while  the  girls 
were  marking  the  ears  of  the  sheep  and  goats, 
and  tying  bells  round  the  necks  of  the  most 
distinguished  members  of  the  flock.  On  a  slop- 
ing bridge,  leading  from  the  yard  into  the  upper 
floor  of  the  barn,  stood  a  tall,  fair  woman,  with 
a  large  white  cloth  tied  in  a  peculiar  fashion 
around  her  head.  It  was  bound  tightly  round 
the  forehead,  but  widened  behind  into  the  shape 
of  a  semicircle.  The  fair  woman  seemed  so  ab- 
sorbed in  the  orders  she  was  giving  in  a  loud 
voice  to  different  parties  working  in  the  yard, 
that  she  did  not  observe  Thor,  before  he  was 
right  at  her  side. 

"Thanks  for  the  last  meeting,"  said  Thor, 
taking  off  his  cap  and  extending  his  hand. 

"Thanks  to  yourself,  Thor,"  said  Ingeborg  of 
Rimul ;  for  it  was  she  to  whom  Thor  had  ad- 
dressed his  words. 


68  GUNNAR. 

"  It  will  be  a  warm  day,"  observed  Thor. 

"  Therefore  we  want  to  get  the  cattle  off  at 
once ;  if  we  tarry,  they  will  scatter  before  noon 
and  we  shall  not  know  where  to  look  for  them. 
Glad  you  came  so  early,  Thor.  Is  this  your 
boy  t " 

Guunar  had  sought  refuge  behind  his  father. 

"  This  is  my  boy.  Go  and  shake  hands, 
Gunnar." 

The  boy  obeyed,  though  rather  reluctantly. 

"  Gunnar  ;  a  good  old  name.  How  old  are 
you,  Gunnar?" 

"  Don't   know,"    said   Gunnar. 

"Eleven  years  last  Christmas,"  replied  his 
father. 

"  That  little  girl  you  see  down  there  among 
the  sheep,"  continued  Ingeborg,  still  addressing 
the  boy,  "is  Gudrun  Heujum,  my  brother's 
daughter.  Go  and  speak  to  her.  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  your  father." 

There  was  something  severe  in  the  woman's 
way  of  talking,  and  he  felt  rather  inclined  to 
rebel.  How  could  he  go  and  speak  to  a  little 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES.  69 

girl,  —  he  who  had  hardly  ever  seen  a  little  girl 
before  1  What  should  he  speak  to  her  about  ? 
Thus  pondering,  he  had  nearly  reached  the  foot 
of  the  bridge,  when  a  sudden  powerful  thrust 
from  behind  sent  him  headlong  down  into  the 
yard.  He  was  so  surprised  that  he  hardly  knew 
whether  to  laugh  or  to  cry.  As  he  was  trying  to 
get  on  his  feet  again,  he  discovered  a  large  ram 
standing  a  few  yards  from  him,  evidently  prepar- 
ing for  another  attack.  A  merry  ringing  laugh 
caught  his  ear,  and  as  he  looked  up  he  saw  two 
little  girls  coming  to  his  rescue.  That  was  more 
than  he  could  bear.  In  a  moment,  springing  to 
his  feet,  he  seized  the  ram  by  the  horns,  and  shook 
him  with  all  his  might. 

"  Why,  you  naughty  boy  ! "  cried  one  of  the 
girls,  "  you  must  not  treat  Hans  so  badly.  Don't 
you  understand,  he  only  wants  to  play  with  you." 
Gunnar  felt  rebuked.  He  released  the  ram,  and 
for  a  while  stood  gazing  at  the  little  girl  and  the 
little  girl  stood  gazing  at  him,  each  of  them  ex- 
pecting the  other  to  speak  first.  The  little  girl 
had  a  scarlet  bodice  and  golden  hair. 


70  GUNNAR. 


"  Are  you  the  Hulder  ?  "  said  he  at  last,  iii  order 
to  say  something. 

"  Mother,  mother,"  cried  she,  running  up  to 
where  Thor  and  Ingeborg  were  standing,  "  what 
do  you  think  he  is  saying  ?  He  wants  to  know  if 
I  am  the  Hulder." 

"Be  quiet,  child,"  said  Ingeborg,  sternly,  "I 
have  no  time  to  speak  to  you." 

Abashed  at  the  rebuke,  the  little  girl  turned 
^lowly,  twisted  the  corner  of  her  apron  between 
her  fingers  with  an  expression  of  embarrassment, 
and  after  some  hesitation  again  returned  to  Gun- 
nar. 

"  Have  you  got  a  name  ? "  asked  she. 

"  Yes,"  answered  he. 

"  My  name  is  Kagnhild,  and  this  is  Gudrun,  my 
cousin." 

Here  she  pointed  to  another  little  girl,  who 
seemed  to  be  of  about  the  same  age  as  herself;  in 
other  respects  there  was  but  little  resemblance. 
Gudrun  was  not  so  fair,  and  had  a  certain  look  of 
shyness  about  her. 

"  My  name  is  Gunnar ;  and  grandmother  knows 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES.  71 

a  great  many  stories  about  Necken  and  the  Hul- 
der,  and  the  boy  who  killed  the  Trold  and  married 
the  beautiful  princess." 

The  girls  were  astounded  at  such  wisdom. 

"  Who  is  Necken  1 "  asked  Ragnhild. 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  about  Necken  ?  he  who 
plays  every  midsummer  night  in  the  water  under 
the  great  waterfall  yonder  ] " 

"  Plays  in  the  water  ?  Who  told  you  1 "  And 
a  shade  of  doubt  passed  over  Ragnhild's  expressive 
features. 

"Well,  if  you  don't  believe  it,  you  may  ask 
grandmother ;  she  knows." 

"  Who  is  grandmother  1 " 

"  Why,  my  grandmother  of  course." 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the 
coming  of  Thor  and  Ingeborg. 

The  long,  clear  tones  of  the  loor  streamed 
through  the  valley  and  resounded  between  the 
mountains.  It  was  the  signal  that  the  caravan 
was  starting.  Suddenly  all  was  life  and  motion 
throughout  the  wide  yard.  The  call  of  the  loor 
seemed  to  impart  joy  and  animation  to  everything 


72  GUNNAR. 


it  reached.  The  cattle  bellowed,  the  calves  and 
the  goats  danced,  the  milkmaids  sung,  and  the 
forest  far  and  near  echoed  with  joyous  song  and 
clamor.  From  her  elevated  station  on  the  bridge 
of  the  barn,  Ingeborg  still  continued  issuing  her 
final  orders  with  regard  to  the  order  of  the  march, 
until  the  back  gate  of  the  yard  was  opened  and 
the  lads  led  the  loaded  pack-horses  up  along  a 
steep  and  stony  road,  which  climbed  over  the 
wood-clothed  mountain-side  and  gradually  lost  it- 
self in  the  thicket ;  after  the  horses  followed  Thor 
and  Gunnar  with  the  goats  and  sheep ;  and  last 
came  the  girls,  driving  before  them  the  herd  of 
larger  cattle.  All  the  girls  and  most  of  the  men 
had  long  loors  in  their  hands  ;  and  high  above  the 
noise  of  the  lowing  cattle  and  the  merry  chat  and 
laughter  of  the  girls  flowed  the  loor-tones  from 
mountain  to  mountain,  like  an  eagle  soaring 
over  all  the  littleness  of  the  world  below.  The 
cattle  knew  the  loor,  and  followed  it  instinctively  : 
it  is  the  surest  messenger  of  spring,  and  as  such  is 
as  welcome  as  the  lark  and  swallow. 

The  loor  is  the  song  of  the  dark  Norwegian  pine 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES.  73 

forest;  it  is  the 'voice  of  Norway's  cloud-hooded 
mountain ;  it  has  a  traditional  history  as  old  and 
as  romantic  as  that  of  the  troubadour's  guitar  in 
the  Middle  Ages ;  and  surely  no  Spanish  donna  or 
Italian  signora  ever  listened  more  expectantly  to 
the  music  of  a  nightly  serenade  than  the  simple 
saeter-maid  when  the  echo  of  the  loor  tells  her 
that  her  lover  is  on  his  way  from  the  valley. 
This  has  always  been  his  greeting ;  and  she  takes 
her  own  loor,  puts  it  to  her  mouth,  and  the 
mountains  far  and  near  resound  with  her  wel- 
come. 

Soon  the  last  calf  has  left  the  yard.  Ingeborg 
of  Rimul  is  still  standing  on  the  same  spot,  view- 
ing with  apparent  pleasure,  and  not  without  a 
certain  pride,  the  long  caravan,  as  it  slowly  winds 
along  the  steep  saeter-road.  And,  in  truth,  it  is 
a  beautiful  sight :  the  men  in  their  light,  close- 
fitting  knee-breeches,  scarlet  vests,  and  little,  red, 
pointed  caps ;  the  girls  with  their  long  blond  hair 
flowing  down  over  their  shoulders,  their  white 
linen  sleeves,  and  bright  bodices ;  the  varied  col- 
ors of  the  cattle  all  standing  in  fine  relief  against 
4 


74  GUNNAR. 


the  dark  hue  of  the  forest,  which  on  both  sides 
encloses  the  road.  When  the  caravan  was  out  of 
sight,  Ingeborg  rose,  with  a  contented  smile. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  man,"  said  she  to  her- 
self, "  who  has  finer  flocks  on  this  side  the  moun- 
tains." 

Thor  and  his  son  walked  in  silence  up  the  steep 
mountain  path,  driving  the  goats  before  them. 
Gunnar  was  looking  eagerly  for  the  Hulder,  whose 
scarlet  bodice  he  expected  to  discover  at  every 
bend  of  the  path.  All  his  looking  was  vain ;  but 
although  greatly  disappointed,  he  felt  by  no  means 
inclined  to  give  up.  At  noon  they  had  walked 
about  eight  miles  without  resting.  Then  the 
view,  which  had  hitherto  been  shut  in  on  all  sides 
by  the  thick-growing  pine-trunks,  suddenly  opened 
upon  a  wide,  glittering  lake,  whose  water  was  so 
clear  that  they  could  hardly  decide  where  it 
touched  the  air;  for  the  bottom  was  visible  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach.  Gunnar  gave  a  cry  of  de- 
light at  the  sight  of  the  lake :  he  had  never  seen 
a  lake  before.  Here  men  and  cattle  halted  to  take 
their  noon  rest.  He  in  the  mean  time  climbed  up 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES.  75 

on  a  rock  projecting  far  into  the  water,  and  sat 
there  watching  the  fishes  chasing  each  other 
round,  and  playing  hide-and-seek  between  the 
stones  and  rushes  down  on  the  bottom 

In  about  an  hour  the  loor  again  sounded,  and 
the  party  again  broke  up.  The  farther  they  went, 
the  steeper  became  the  road ;  and  gradually,  as 
they  ascended,  the  forest  grew  thinner,  and  the 
whole  landscape  assumed  a  wilder  and  sterner 
character.  Instead  of  the  slender,  stately  pine, 
the  crippled  dwarf  birch  was  seen  creeping  along 
the  stony  ground  ;  everything  was  so  barren,  so 
lifeless ;  and  the  barrenness  of  the  monotonous 
scenery  seemed  to  impress  both  men  and  cattle. 
The  song  and  the  laughter  ceased,  and  the  bells 
of  the  cows  were  the  only  sound  to  break  the  si- 
lence. 

It  was  already  late  in  the  afternoon.  The  land- 
scape still  wore  the  same  unseemly  garb  of  dust- 
brown  heather,  interwoven  with  the  twisted  and 
knotted  stems  of  the  dwarf  birch,  running  length- 
wise and  crosswise  in  every  possible  direction,  and 
with  their  coarse,  mazy  network  binding  the  in- 


76  GUNNAR. 


coherent  elements  of  the  landscape  together. 
Suddenly  came  a  loud  shout  from  the  foremost 
man. 

"  The  highland,  the  highland  !  "  ran  from  mouth 
to  mouth ;  and,  joining  in  the  joyful  cry,  girls  and 
men,  hurrying  the  cattle  onward,  bounded  from 
stone  to  stone  as  fast  as  their  feet  could  carry 
them.  At  the  border  of  the  wide  highland  plain 
they  all  halted :  one  powerful  tone  from  thirty 
united  loors  rolled  over  the  crowns  of  the  moun- 
tains; it  was  their  greeting  to  the  highland. 
Numerous  flocks  of  screaming  birds  flew  up  from 
the  plain  in  answer  to  the  greeting. 

Gunnar  was  among  the  last  comers.  To  him, 
who  had  no  idea  of  what  a  highland  meant,  and 
who  never  had  been  used  to  see  more  than  a  few 
rods  around  him,  the  change  was  so  sudden  and 
so  unexpected  that  for  a  moment  he  had  a  sensa- 
tion as  if  he  was  losing  his  breath,  or  as  if  the 
earth  had  fallen  from  under  his  feet,  and  he  had 
been  left  floating  in  the  air.  The  next  sensation 
was  one  of  blindness ;  for  the  immense  distance 
dazzled  his  unwonted  eye  almost  as  if  he  had  been 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES.  77 

gazing  at  the  sun.  Speechless  he  stared  before 
him.  Gradually  the  objects  which  had  at  first 
appeared  near  together  separated,  and  the  vast 
table-land  spread  before  him  in  all  its  unlimited 
grandeur.  He  drew  a  long,  full  breath  :  surely 
he  had  never  known  the  delight  of  breathing  be- 
fore. A  throng  of  childish  plans  crowded  into  his 
mind;  half-hidden  dreams,  half-born  hopes,  re- 
vived, and  came  forth  into  light :  they  had  not 
had  room  while  they  were  crowded  together  down 
in  the  dark,  narrow  valley. 

Gunnar  felt  strong  and  free.  He  sat  down  on 
the  soft  verdure,  and  drank  new  delight  from  the 
glorious  sight.  The  whole  plain  was  overgrown 
with  rich,  fresh,  green  grass.  A  few  miles  away 
lay  a  large  mountain  lake  \  and  a  clear,  broad  river 
wound  quietly  through  the  imposing  plateau.  On 
a  slight  elevation  near  the  lake-shore  lay  three 
turf-thatched  chalets,  hedged  in  by  a  fence  of  low 
palisades ;  that  was  the  saeter  of  Rimul.  In  the 
blue  distance  a  Yokul  lifted  its  airy  head  into  the 
clouds.  Suddenly  his  grandmother's  old,  forbid- 
den story  of  the  poor  boy,  the  three-headed  Trold, 


78  GUNNAR. 


and  the  beautiful  princess,  stood  vividly  before 
Gunnar's  mind.  When  the  poor  boy  had  walked 
a  long  way  and  had  reached  the  top  of  the  first 
mountain,  he  had  met  an  old  woman,  of  whom  he 
had  asked  the  way.  "Can.  you  see  that  high 
mountain,  far  away  in  the  blue  distance?"  the 
old  woman  asked. 

Yes,  the  boy  could  see  that  mountain. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  old  woman,  "  ten  thou- 
sand miles  beyond  it  is  another  far  higher  moun- 
tain. There  is  the  palace  of  the  Trold;  there 
sleeps  the  beautiful  princess." 

"  This  must  surely  be  the  right  mountain," 
thought  Gunnar.  "  0,  could  I  but  see  beyond 
it!" 

Before  long  the  caravan  was  again  moving,  and 
he  Was  no  longer  left  to  his  own  meditations.  In- 
deed, the  goats  gave  him  enough  to  do  for  the 
remainder  of  the  day,  and  he  soon  had  a  foretaste 
of  the  unpleasant  part  of  the  duties  of  a  "  cattle- 
boy."  The  goats  did  not  seem  at  all  disposed  to 
keep  company ;  and  when  that  animal  has  formed 
a  determination,  it  is  not  easily  prevailed  against 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES.  79 

either  by  force  or  by  cunning.  But  in  spite  of 
the  resolute  resistance  on  the  part  of  the  goats, 
Gunnar  at  last  had  the  triumph  of  seeing  his 
rebellious  subjects  gathered  with  the  rest  of  the 
party  on  the  saeter-green.  The  saeter  cottages 
were  opened,  and  the  horses  unloaded.  Before 
the  door  of  the  middle  cottage,  out  in  the  open 
air,  there  was  a  large  fireplace  built  of  rough 
stones;  here  a  fire  was  made,  and  the  wooden 
cups  and  milk-pails  were  boiled  with  juniper 
branches,  before  they  were  taken  into  use ;  for 
unless  thus  prepared  they  would  give  a  wooden 
taste  to  the  milk. 

It  was  indeed  a  welcome  sight  to  Gunnar  when 
at  length  a  repast,  consisting  of  oatmeal  and  dried 
beef,  was  spread  on  the  grass ;  and  he  was  cer- 
tainly not  the  only  one  who  looked  forward  with 
eagerness  to  the  approaching  feast.  All  prepara- 
tions being  finished,  the  merry  company  sat  down 
round  the  fire,  and  attacked  the  solid  food  with  an 
enviable  appetite. 

When  the  meal  was  at  an  end,  it  was  already 
late  in  the  afternoon.  The  cattle  would  find  pas- 


80  GUNNAR. 


ture  within  the  corral  that  night,  and  the  hour 
for  milking  was  near.  The  maids  then  went  to 
their  work,  and  the  men  to  theirs. 

"  Poor  lads  we  have  nowadays,"  said  Brita,  a 
tall,  slender  girl,  with  a  mass  of  rich  blond  hair 
flowing  down  over  her  back,  and  deep  dimples 
in  her  cheeks,  —  "  poor  lads  we  have  nowadays  ! 
Among  so  many,  not  one  who  knows  how  to  tread 
the  spring-dance  decently."  And  she  put  down 
the  filled  milk-pails  she  was  carrying,  set  her 
arms  akimbo,  and,  with  an  air  of  roguish  defiance, 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  a  group  of  young  men  who 
lay  lazily  smoking  around  the  fire. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  chicken  who  wanted 
to  teach  the  hen  to  lay  eggs  1 "  answered  a  young 
lad  in  the  smoking  group,  to  whom  the  challenge 
seemed  to  be  especially  addressed. 

"  The  best  buck  is  not  always  the  one  that 
has  the  biggest  horns,  Endre,"  laughed  the  girl. 
"Your  strength  has  always  been  in  the  mouth, 
you  know ;  your  legs  are  certainly  more  than 
long  enough,  if  you  only  knew  how  to  use 
them." 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES.  81 

"  Canute,  halloo  !  Out  with  the  fiddle,"  cried 
Endre  to  an  older  man,  who  was  sitting  on  the 
threshold  of  the  cottage  leisurely  smoking  his 
evening  pipe,  —  "  out  with  the  fiddle,  I  say  !  and 
Brita  shall  soon  see  whether  I  understand  how  to 
use  my  legs  or  not." 

Canute  soon  got  his  eight-stringed  Hardanger 
violin  in  order,  struck  a  few  strangely  sounding 
chords  by  way  of  prelude,  and  began.  Brita  was 
only  too  glad  to  accept  Endre's  invitation.  The 
other  young  men  follow  his  example ;  and  be- 
fore long  the  whole  .crowd  is  moving  in  a  ring 
around  the  fire  in  time  with  the  alluring  rnusic. 
Only  Thor  does  not  dance ;  he  takes  a  seat  at  the 
fiddler's  side,  and  soon  seems  entirely  absorbed  in 
the  contemplation  of  the  smoke  from  his  pipe, 
as  it  curls  up,  spreads,  and  slowly  vanishes  in 
the  clear  night-air.  Probably  he  is  musing  over 
the  days  when  he  ranked  the  foremost  among  the 
dancers  of  the  valley.  Gunnar  looks  in  wonder  at 
this  unwonted  sight ;  and  the  longer  he  listens 
to  the  exciting  notes  the  stronger  a  desire  he  feels 
to  join.  Now  the  music  comes  softly  rippling 
4*  F 


82  GUNNAR. 


from  the  strings,  now  it  rolls  and  rumbles,  and 
now  again  flows  smooth  and  clear,  until  it  hushes 
itself  into  a  gentle,  whispering  murmur.  And  the 
dancers  understand  and  they  feel  the  power  of 
that  music.  First  forming  a  long  line,  they  move 
slowly  forward,  leading  the  girls  by  the  hands 
after  them,  and  softly  touching  the  ground  alter- 
nately with  their  heels  and  toes,  and  adapting  the 
gestures  of  their  whole  bodies  to  the  rippling 
tones  ;  but  gradually,  as  the  strokes  of  the  fiddler 
grow  wilder,  the  tread  of  their  heels  becomes 
stronger,  and  the  motions  of  their  limbs  more 
wildly  expressive. 

It  was  late,  but  still  the  sun  was  lingering ;  it 
looked  red  and  tired,  for  it  had  waked  many  hours. 
One  long,  loving,  parting  look,  and  it  sunk  in 
a  dreamy  halo  behind  the  western  glaciers.  A 
nightly  chill  crept  over  the  highland. 

The  dance  was  ended.  Canute,  the  fiddler, 
carefully  wrapped  his  precious  violin  in  his  hand- 
kerchief to  protect  it  from  the  damp  night-air. 
Gunnar,  who  had  looked  on  and  listened  until  he 
was  fast  asleep,  was  aroused  by  his  father.  "  I 


EARLY  EXPERIENCES.  83 

am  going  home  again  now,"  said  Thor,  "but  I 
shall  come  up  here  to  see  you  now  and  then. 
Here,  take  this  as  a  keepsake  from  your  father.'* 
And  Thor  went.  Gunnar  had  hardly  time  to 
realize  whether  he  was  awake  or  dreaming.  It 
was  a  fine  knife,  with  carved  haft  and  silver 
sheath,  he  held  in  his  hand.  He  had  long  wished 
for  just  such  a  knife.  Surely  he  had  never  known 
his  father  before  now.  He  saw  that  clearly. 


VI. 

RHYME-OLA. 

JUNNAR  sat  on  the  lake-shore  musing; 
he  stared  down  into  the  deep,  clear 
water.  The  sun  stood  right  in  the 
north.  Round  about  lay  the  cattle  in  their  noon 
rest.  Although  it  was  but  three  weeks  to-day 
since  he  had  come  to  the  saeter,  it  was  to  him  an 
infinitely  long  time  ;  he  appeared  to  himself  so 
much  older  and  wiser;  and  the  little  boy  who 
a  few  weeks  ago  rode  on  Fox  and  talked  to  the 
dark  was  as  far  off  as  if  he  had  but  heard  of 
him  in  some  Neck  or  Hulder  legend.  And  the 
poor  boy  who  slew  the  Trold  and  married  the 
princess !  curious  it  would  be  to  know  if  he  had 
ever  been  in  the  highlands  and  watched  cattle. 

How  strange  it  looked  down  there  in  the  water ! 
How   wonderfully  cool   and   clear !     Now  a   big, 


RHYME-OLA.  85 


shining  dragon-fly  came  dancing  away  over  the 
invisible  mirror,  gently  touched  it,  and  small, 
quivering  rings  spread  and  spread,  and  vanished, 
—  vanished  somewhere  and  nowhere.  How  won- 
derfully still  !  The  water  rested,  the  air  rested, 
everything  rested.  No  sound,  no  motion.  But  the 
silence  seemed  to  make  everything  look  stronger, 
to  color  and  intensify  it.  Down  there  on  the 
bottom  of  the  lake  the  gray  stones  lay  between 
the  tall,  rustling  bulrushes ;  and  they  grew  and 
moved,  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  Gunnar,  half 
frightened,  turned  his  eyes  swiftly,  flung  himself 
on  his  back,  and  gazed  up  into  the  air.  There 
was  not  a  cloud  to  be  seen ;  the  air  was  a  great 
nothing.  And  the  longer  he  gazed  the  weaker  he 
appeared  to  himself,  as  if  he  was  losing  himself 
in  the  clearness  of  the  air ;  and  the  air  grew 
stronger  and  stronger  ;  it  began  to  float  and  move 
before  his  eyes,  until  at  last  an  infinite  number 
of  small  colorless  disks  came  slowly  swimming 
past  him,  and  filled  the  space  far  and  near.  Then 
by  degrees  they  assumed  a  faint  violet  or  blue 
color,  faded,  and  again  grew  brighter.  A  flash  of 


86  GUNNAR. 


light  from  nowhere  and  everywhere  leaped  through 
the  air,  trembled,  glittered,  and  vanished.  And 
the  air  itself  vanished  too.  Again  it  was  as  noth- 
ing. He  shut  his  eyes.  How  strange  ! 

Then  it  was  as  if  something  spoke,  —  spoke 
without  a  sound,  yet  distinctly  and  audibly; 
without  word,  yet  full  of  hidden  meaning.  He 
listened ;  and  the  longer  he  listened  the  dimmer 
grew  the  boundary  between  silence  and  sound, 
until  they  strangely  blended.  The  silence  seemed 
the  symphony  of  an  infinite  number  of  infinitely 
small  voices  too  small  to  be  called  sounds ;  they 
gushed  forth  all  round  him  and  from  within  him ; 
they  whizzed  in  the  air,  they  buzzed  in  the  grass, 
the  bulrushes  rustled  with  them.  Suddenly,  as 
he  became  conscious  that  he  was  listening,  the 
sound  stopped,  as  in  wonder  at  its  own  existence, 
and  a  vast  emptiness  filled  the  world  far  and  near. 
He  held  his  breath  ;  and  as  his  thought  lost  its 
hold  on  itself,  the  air,  the  grass,  the  rushes,  were 
again  alive  with  numberless  voices;  but  to  him 
it  seemed  as  if  they  had  been  forever,  as  if  they 
had  never  suffered  an  interruption ;  for  there  was 


RHYME- OLA.  87 


that  in  their  nature  which  has  no  beginning,  nei- 
ther has  it  any  end.  And  as  he  lay  there  listen- 
ing in  half-conscious  unconsciousness,  the  thought 
shot  through  his  mind  that  he  must  have  seen 
and  heard  all  this  before,  he  knew  not  when  or 
where.  Then  came  the  poor  boy  with  his  prin- 
cess ;  certainly,  from  his  grandmother's  tales,  it 
was  there  ;  he  knew  it  all.  He  felt  as  if  he  stood 
at  the  entrance  of  that  new  world  which,  though 
unknown  and  unseen,  he  had  been  vaguely  con- 
scious of  through  so  many  long  years  of  yearning, 
whose  nearness  he  had  felt  many  a  dark  winter 
night  when,  after  the  tale  was  ended,  the  drowsy 
embers  from  the  hearth  had  stared  at  him  with 
weird,  beckoning  eyes ;  when  on  Fox,  the  old  sad- 
dle, he  had  ridden  out  in  search  of  Trold,  and 
wonders  ;  when,  up  under  the  roof  of  the  cottage, 
he  had  spent  such  happy  hours  gazing  at  the 
dark,  and  with  the  fantastic  shapes  of  the  dark 
gazing  at  him.  As  all  these  impressions  now 
again  stood  vividly  before  him,  he  saw  that  they 
had  all  been  tones  in  the  same  chord.  This  was 
the  full  chord  ;  still  there  was  no  rest  in  it,  —  it 


88  GUNNAR. 


was  a  chord  of  transition,  a  step  to  something 
higher.  And  the  Hulder,  —  he  felt  her  presence  ; 
she  could  not  be  far  from  him  now. 

A  thundering  noise  struck  his  ear;  he  started 
to  his  feet,  still  dreaming,  senseless,  bewildered. 
He  had  half  expected  to  see  the  golden  hair  and 
the  scarlet  bodice  of  the  Hulder,  and  in  the  first 
moment  he  was  not  sure  but  it  might  be  she. 
But  before  his  second  thought,  he  felt  himself 
seized  by  the  arm  and  flung  up  the  hillside,  and 
he  thought  he  heard  these  words  :  "  Whatever  you 
do,  boy,  don't  you  rush  right  into  the  water ! " 

Gunnar  rubbed  his  eyes  and  stared.  He  saw  a 
queer-looking  little  man  standing  on  the  hillside, 
holding  a  long  loor  in  his  hand,  and  with  a  broad 
grin  on  his  face. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  are  a  very  good  cattle- 
boy,"  continued  the  man.  "  What  do  you  think 
the  widow  of  Rimul  would  say  if  she  knew  you 
went  to  sleep  at  this  time  of  the  day,  and  that 
right  in  the  sunshine  1  If  it  had  not  been  for  me, 
you  might  have  looked  in  the  moon  for  your  cows 
to-night.  They  were  all  straggling." 


RHYME-OLA.  89 


"  I  was  not  asleep,"  said  Gunnar,  now  somewhat 
recovered. 

He  thought  the  little  man  was  very  queer-look- 
ing indeed.  He  was  rather  homely,  some  would, 
perhaps,  say  even  ugly.  His  eyes  were  large  and 
dark,  and  looked  as  if  he  had  just  been  weeping ; 
his  mouth  was  broad,  and  drawn  up  to  one  side 
in  a  strange,  half-sarcastic  smile.  There  was  an 
inexplicable  conflict  between  the  dreaming  sad- 
ness of  his  eyes  and  the  broad  burlesque  expres- 
sion of  the  rest  of  his  features.  He  seemed  to  be 
conscious  of  this  himself;  for  he  kept  winking 
with  one  eye,  as  if  trying  to  make  this  discordant 
feature  conform  to  the  leading  characteristic  of 
his  face. 

The  little  man  flung  himself  down  on  the  green- 
sward and  fixed  his  eyes  intently  on  Gunnar ; 
and  the  boy  followed  his  example,  and  stared  at 
him  in  return.  Thus  they  sat  for  a  while.  At 
last  the  stranger  opened  his  mouth  as  if  he  were 
going  to  speak,  then  shut  it  again  without  saying 
anything,  and  so  again  and  again. 

"  Have  you  got  anything  to  eat  1 "  cried  he,  sud- 


90  GUNNAR. 


denly,  as  if  it  cost  him  a  great  effort  to  speak  the 
words. 

"  No,"  said  Gunnar. 

"  Then  come  here,"  continued  the  other,  "  and 
hold  this  cow  by  the  horns,  while  I  milk  her.  I 
am  hungry  as  a  wolf." 

Gunnar  obeyed.  There  was  something  very 
peculiar  in  the  little  man,  some  strange  mixture 
of  strength  and  weakness,  which  did  not  fail  to 
make  a  strong  impression  on  his  mind.  While  he 
held  the  cow,  his  companion  stooped  down,  milked 
with  one  hand,  using  the  other  for  a  cup,  and  now 
and  then  emptying  it  into  his  mouth.  But  after 
a  while,  probably  finding  this  process  too  trouble- 
some, he  knelt  down,  put  his  head  up  under  the 
cow,  and  milked  right  into  his  mouth. 

"  Does  the  cow  kick  1 "  asked  he. 

"Yes." 

"Very  well."  And  he  went  on  milking,  while 
Gunnar  stood  gazing  at  him  in  mute  astonish- 
ment. At  last  the  cow  began  to  show  signs  of 
impatience. 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  rising,  and  wiping  the  milk  from 


RHYME- OLA.  91 


his  mouth  with  his  ragged  coat-sleeve,  "  what  a 
delicious  meal !  I  have  not  seen  a  thing  to  eat 
since  yesterday  noon  ;  and  since  this  morning  my 
miserable  bowels  have  been  entertaining  me  with 
a  wofuller  Lenten-hymn  than  ever  found  its  way 
into  old  Kingo's  hymn-book.  Strange  enough,  I 
never  was  partial  to  fasting." 

And  he  laughed  aloud  ;  but  finding  no  response 
in  Gunnar,  whose  face  was  as  grave  as  ever,  he 
suddenly  stayed  his  mirth,  and  with  a  look  of  dis- 
appointment turned  on  his  heel  and  seated  him- 
self in  the  grass,  with  his  back  to  his  companion. 
Gunnar,  however,  unconscious  of  offence,  walked 
up  to  him,  and  flung  himself  down  at  his  side  on 
the  green.  The  man  then,  after  having  examined 
all  his  pockets,  finally  from  the  one  on  the  inside 
of  his  vest  drew  out  some  ragged  and  greasy 
papers,  which  he  carefully  spread  out  on  his 
knees,  and  for  some  time  contemplated,  with  an 
expression  of  the  keenest  interest.  Soon  his 
mouth  was  again  drawn  up  into  its  customary 
grin  or  smile,  and  his  face  grew  brighter  and 
happier  the  longer  he  looked.  Gunnar  was  quite 


92  GUNNAR. 


curious  to  know  what  these  old  papers  could  con- 
tain ;  for,  judging  from  the  expression  of  the  man's 
face,  they  surely  afforded  him  great  delight.  Now 
he  shook  his  head  and  laughed  heartily.  The  boy 
could  no  longer  restrain  his  curiosity. 

"  What  is  your  name  1 "  asked  he,  rather  ab- 
ruptly. 

The  man  was  so  absorbed  in  his  papers  that  he 
heard  nothing. 

"What  is  your  name?"  repeated  Gunnar,  this 
time  close  to  his  ear. 

The  little  man  quickly  raised  his  head,  and 
looked  round  bewildered,  as  if  he  had .  been  sud- 
denly awaked  from  some  delightful  revery. 

"  My  name  1 "  said  he  ;  "  my  name  1  Sure 
enough  ;  that  is  more  easily  asked  than  told.  I 
have  such  a  great  number  of  names,  that  I  hardly 
think  I  can  remember  them  all." 

"  Then  tell  me  only  one  of  them." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  so  very  anxious  to  know,  I 
will  tell  you  as  many  as  you  can  bear  to  hear. 
Some  call  me  Fool-Ola,  others  Rag-Ola ;  but  with 
the  pastor  and  all  the  gentlefolk  of  the  valley  I 
generally  go  by  the  name  of  Rhyme-Ola." 


RHYME-OLA.  93 


"  Why,  indeed  !     Are  you  Rhyme-Ola  1 " 

"  They  say  so." 

"  I  have  heard  grandmother  speak  of  you.  She 
knows  a  great  many  of  your  songs  too."  Rhyme- 
Ola's  sad  eyes  brightened,  but  he  said  nothing. 
Gunnar  was  very  anxious  to  know  something 
about  the  papers,  but  he  hardly  knew  how  to 
approach  the  subject.  At  last  he  made  an  at- 
tempt. "  Is  there  anything  written  in  those  pa- 
pers of  yours  1 "  asked  he. 

"  Written  !  "  cried  Rhyme-Ola,  in  sudden  excite- 
ment ;  "  written,  did  you  say  *?  No,  sir ;  there  is 
nothing  written  on  my  papers,  — nothing  written" 
with  an  indignant  emphasis  on  the  last  word. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  did  not  know  there  was 
any  harm  in  asking,"  said  Gunnar,  quite  fright- 
ened by  the  irritation  of  his  friend. 

"No,  sir;  there  is  nothing  written"  repeated 
Rhyme-Ola,  indignantly  ;  "  the  pastor  himself  said 
that  it  was  printed,  —  printed  in  the  great  city 
beyond  the  mountains,  and  read  by  all  the  judges 
and  pastors  all  over  the  country.  Then  it  cannot 
be  written." 


94  GVNNAR. 


Upon  Gunnar's  further  inquiry,  Rhyme-Ola  re- 
lated with  great  minuteness  a  long  story,  of  how 
he  had  once,  a  long  time  ago,  sung  one  of  his 
ditties  to  the  old  pastor,  who  was  now  dead  and 
buried ;  how  the  old  pastor  had  praised  his  song, 
and  asked  his  permission  to  write  it  down,  and 
send  it  to  one  of  the  city  papers. 

"  That  is  a  good  song,  Rhyme-Ola,"  the  old 
pastor  had  said,  "  and  worthy  to  live  a  long  time 
after  both  you  and  I  are  dead  and  gone."  So  he 
had  it  sent  to  be  printed  in  print,  and  these  were 
the  leaves  on  which  the  song  had  been  printed. 
Never  author  found  more  happiness  in  his  far- 
famed  volume  than  this  poor  country  songster  in 
the  long-forgotten  newspaper  in  which  his  only 
song  was  printed.  "  It  is  to  live  after  I  am  dead," 
muttered  he,  gazing  at  the  half-worn-out  leaves 
with  eyes  as  tender  as  those  of  a  mother  looking 
on  her  first-born  child. 

Gunnar  fully  shared  his  delight,  and  looked 
upon  the  remnants  of  the  song  with  reverence,  as 
if  they  contained  a  world  of  wisdom. 

"  Could  you  not  read  the  song  for  me  1 "  asked 
he,  eagerly. 


RHYME-OLA.  95 


"  Read  ?     I  cannot  read." 

"  Sing,  then  ! " 

"Yes,  gladly  will  I  sing."  And  Rhyme-Ola  once 
more  took  his  papers,  turned,  and  examined  them 
closely,  running  down  the  page  with  his  finger,  as 
if  reading ;  at  about  the  middle  of  the  page  he 
pointed  at  a  line  and  called  Gunnar.  "  Read 
there,"  said  he  :  "  what  does  it  say  1 " 

The  paper  was  so  soiled  that  Gunnar  had  great 
difficulty  in  making  out  what  it  was. 

"Now,  what  does  it  say1?"  repeated  the  author, 
impatiently. 

"  The  Bruised  Wing :  by  Rhyme-Ola." 

"  By  Rhyme-Ola  ;  yes,  that  is  right,  by  Rhyme- 
Ola."  And  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  sang  :  — 

"  Little  sparrow  he  sits  on  his  roof  so  low, 
Chirping  the  summer-day  long. 
The  swallow  she  bathes  in  the  sunlight's  glow, 
And  lifts  to  the  heavens  her  song. 
But.  high  is  the  flight  of  the  eagle. 

"  Little  sparrow  he  buildeth  his  lowly  nest 
Close  decked  by  the  shingles  red. 
The  swallow  she  findeth  a  better  rest, 


GUNNAR. 


With  her  wings  to  the  storm-wind  wed. 
And  high  is  the  flight  of  the  eagle. 

"  The  swallow  she  cometh  from  far  away, . 
O'er  wild  waves  and  mountains  high  ; 
She  comes  from  the  land  of  eternal  day, 
Where  the  summer  shall  never  die. 
For  high  is  the  flight  of  the  eagle. 

il  Little  sparrow's  world  is  his  narrow  lane, 
He  knoweth  no  sunshiny  shore  ; 
His  nestlings  he  feedeth  and  gathers  his  grain, 
And  yearueth  for  nothing  more. 
But  high  is  the  flight  of  the  eagle. 


"  Now  spring  was  breathing  its  healing  breath, 
With  life  teemed  the  earth  and  the  sky  ; 
And  fled  were  darkness  and  cold  and  death, 
In  the  days  now  long  gone  by. 
For  high  is  the  flight  of  the  eagle. 

"  And  the  swallows  came  from  the  lands  of  light 
In  the  belfry  they  built  their  nest,  — 
Their  fledglings  had  there  so  wide  a  sight, 
And  there  could  so  safely  rest. 
But  high  is  the  flight  of  the  eagle. 

"  For  they  saw  the  sun  in  its  glory  rise, 
.  Saw  the  huge  clouds  chased  by  the  gale  ; 


RHYME-OLA.  97 


And  they  longed  to  bathe  in  those  radiant  skies, 
As  for  the  breeze  longs  the  slackened  sail. 
For  high  is  the  flight  of  the  eagle. 

"  One  morn  then,  as  loud  chimed  the  sabbath-bell, 
All  the  world  seemed  to  beckon  and  sing ; 
Then  rose  to  the  clouds  one  nestling,  but  fell 
To  the  earth  with  a  bruised  wing. 
For  high  is  the  flight  of  the  eagle. 

"  Swift  summer  speeds,  and  the  swallows  flee 
To  the  realms  of  summer  and  light. 
Alas  for  him  whose  wing  is  not  free 
To  follow  them  on  their  flight ! 
For  high  is  the  flight  of  the  eagle. 

"  Yea,  tenfold  pity  on  him  in  whose  breast 
Live  longings  for  light  and  spring, 
But  still  must  tarry  in  sparrow-nest, 
Tarry  with  bruised  wing. 
For  high  is  the  flight  of  the  eagle." 

There  was  something  almost  ethereal  in  Rhyme- 
Ola's  voice ;  in  the  beginning  of  the  song  it  was 
clear  and  firm,  but  as  he  approached  the  end  it 
grew  more  and  more  tremulous,  and  at  last  the 

tears  broke  through;    he  buried  his  face  in  his 

i 

hands  and  wept,     Gunnar's  sympathy  was  heart- 
5  G 


98  GUNNAR. 


felt  and  genuine ;  before  he  knew  it,  he  felt  the 
tears  starting  too.  He  hardly  understood  the 
whole  depth  of  pathos  in  Rhyme-Ola's  song ;  but 
for  all  that  he  felt  it  none  the  less.  It  inspired 
him,  as  it  were,  with  a  vague  but  irresistible 
longing  to  do  something  great,  he  knew  not 
what;  and  as  he  sat  there  musing  over  the  sad 
words,  "  tarry  with  bruised  wing,"  the  outer  world 
again  receded,  he  forgot  Rhyme-Ola's  presence, 
and  his  fancy  again  began  its  strange  and  capri- 
cious play.  The  words  of  the  song,  which  were 
still  ringing  in  his  ears,  began  to  assume  shape 
and  color,  and  to  pass  in  a  confused  panorama 
before  his  eyes.  Unconsciously,  his  thoughts 
returned  to  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  in  the 
air  and  in  the  silence,  and  it  was  to  him  as  if  he 
had  never  awakened,  as  if  he  was  still  wrapped 
in  the  visions  of  his  summer  dream.  He  was 
startled  by  Rhyme-Ola's  dark  eyes  staring  at 
him.  With  an  effort  he  fixed  the  scene  in  his 
mind ;  and,  as  again  the  lake,  the  rocks,  and  the 
distant  Yokul  lay  before  him,  glittering  in  the 
noonday,  the  song  appeared  fur,  far  away,  like  a 


RHYME- OLA.  99 


dim  recollection  from  some  half-forgotten  fireside 
tale.  The  fireside  led  his  thought  to  his  grand- 
mother; and  as  one  thought  followed  another, 
he  at  last  wondered  if  Rhyme-Ola  had  any  grand- 
mother. 

"Have  you  any  grandmother,  Rhyme-Ola1?" 
said  he. 

"  Grandmother  1     Never  had  any." 

Gunnar  could  hardly  credit  such  an  assertion ; 
and  wishing  for  more  satisfactory  information,  he 
continued  to  ask  the  songster  about  his  father 
and  mother  and  other  family  relations  ;  but  he  re- 
ceived only  evasive  answers,  and  it  was  evident  that 
the  subject  was  not  agreeable.  Now  and  then  ne 
made  a  remark  about  the  cattle  or  the  weather, 
and  finally  succeeded  in  bringing  up  another 
theme  of  conversation.  So  they  talked  on  for  an 
hour  or  more.  Then  Rhyme-Ola  started  to  go. 

"It  is  St.  John's  Eve  to-morrow  night,"  said 
he,  as  he  arose;  "you  will  of  course  be  at  St. 
John's  Hill." 

"  I  did  not  know  it  was  St.  John's  Eve,  but  I 
think  I  shall  come." 


100  GUNNAR. 


And  Rhyme-Ola  walked  off. 

"Many  thanks  for  your  song,"  cried  Gunnar 
after  him. 

"Thanks  to  yourself." 

"  You  will  come  again  very  soon,  won't  you  ? " 

"  Very  soon." 

Here  Rhyme-Ola  was  out  of  sight. 

Gunnar  again  sat  down  on  the  rock,  review- 
ing all  the  wonderful  events  of  the  day. 


VII. 

ST.  JOHN'S  EVE. 

|T.  JOHN'S  Eve  lies  midway  between 
spring  and  fall ;  it  is  summer  in  its 
strength  and  glory. 
The  day  was  far  advanced,  evening  was  draw- 
ing near.  Gunnar'  had  again  taken  his  station 
on  the  rock  projecting  into  the  lake,  on  the 
very  same  spot  where  Rhyme-Ola  had  found 
him  the  day  before.  On  his  knees  rested  a 
wooden  board  made  of  two  rough  fir-planks, 
whereon  was  spread  out  a  large,  square  piece  of 
thin,  white  birch-bark.  In  his  hand  he  had  a 
pencil,  with  which  he  drew  on  the  bark.  The 
cattle  showed  evident  signs  of  impatience,  for  it 
was  already  milking-hour ;  but  Gunnar  was  too 
much  absorbed  in  his  work  even  to  be  conscious 
of  their  presence.  Many  new,  strange  thoughts 


102  GUNNAR. 


had  been  playing  in  his  mind  since  Rhyme-Ola's 
visit.  Still  the  sad  and  yet  bold  and  rousing 
strain  of  the  song  kept  ringing  in  his  ear,  now 
wakening  him  to  life  and  action,  now  tuning 
his  mind  to  blissful  revery.  When  he  had  first 
left  the  cottage  in  the  valley  and  first  had  drunk 
the  freshness  of  the  mountain  air,  there  had 
been  a  new  life  born  in  him.  Fresh  hopes  and 
longings  had  thronged  his  mind;  Necken,  the 
Hulder,  and  all  that  was  fair  to  his  childish 
fancy  had  suddenly  become  living  realities,  and 
he  could  often  feel  their  enchanting  presence, 
when  the  day  fell  warm  and  wondering  over 
the  highlands,  and  the  air  held  its  breath  in 
anxious  silence.  Often  had  he  spent  hour  after 
hour  searching  through  the  dark  and  half-hidden 
copse  in  the  hope  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  some 
airy  sprite.  Never  a  loor-tone  came  floating  over 
the  plain,  but  he  started  to  see  if  the  Hulder 
might  not  be  near;  for  he  was  sure  the  loor 
must  be  hers.  True,  shadows  of  doubt  had  been 
coming  and  passing,  —  shadows  such  as  summer 
clouds  throw  on  the  forest  when  the  sun  is  bright. 


ST.  JOHN'S  EVE  103 

Like  these  they  had  again  vanished,  leaving  the 
light  the  clearer  for  their  presence.  Then  Rhyme- 
Ola  came  with  his  wondrous  song.  Although  he 
did  not  sing  of  the  Hulder,  still  either  his  song 
or  himself  in  some  strange  manner  again  brought 
her  to  view.  He  had  brought  what  had  been 
lacking  to  make  the  chord  full,  the  harmony  com- 
plete ;  he  had  given  form  to  the  shapeless  long- 
ings, had  given  rest  to  the  restless  chord.  Gun- 
nar  no  longer  had  need  of  looking  without  for 
the  Hulder  :  into  his  own  mind  her  image  de- 
scended, clear  and  beautiful  as  the  day.  When 
he  came  to  the  saeter  that  night,  he  felt  an  irre- 
sistible desire  to  give  expression  to  the  powerful 
thoughts  that  moved  within  him.  In  the  cottage 
at  home  he  had  always  taken  great  delight  in 
drawing  the  strange  beings  which  lived  in  his 
fancy.  For  canvas  he  had  used  the  cottage  floor ; 
paper  he  had  never  known.  Since  he  had  left 
home,  he  had  often  busied  himself  with  projects 
for  new  drawings,  but  had  never  found  an  oppor- 
tunity to  execute  his  designs.  To-night,  however, 
he  could  allow  nothing  to  defeat  his  purpose. 


104  GUNNAR. 


Having  searched  the  saeter  cottages  from  one 
end  to  another,  he  finally  discovered  in  the  crev- 
ice of  a  beam  a  large  pencil,  which  probably  had 
been  left  there  by  the  carpenters.  Under  one 
of  the  beds  lay  a  pile  of  birch-bark,  which  the 
maids  used  for  kindling-wood.  From  this  he  se- 
lected the  largest  and  smoothest  pieces,  cut  them 
square,  and  found  them  even  more  suitable  for  his 
purpose  than  anything  he  had  hitherto  tried. 

It  was  late  before  Gunnar  sought  rest  that 
night ;  but  the  sun  is  late,  too,  at  midsummer, 
so  there  was  nothing  to  remind  him  that  mid- 
night was  drawing  near.  The  next  morning  he 
brought  his  half-finished  drawing  with  him  as 
he  started  with  the  cattle,  and  took  his  seat  on 
his  favorite  rock,  while  the  flocks  were  grazing 
around  on  the  lake-shore.  Now  the  day  was 
already  leaning  toward  night ;  it  had  stolen  away 
like  a  dream,  and  he  knew  not  how  or  where  it 
had  gone.  Soon  he  should  give  the  last  touch 
to  his  drawing;  he  saw  that  it  was  not  finished, 
but  somehow  or  other  he  could  not  decide  where 
the  finishing  touch  was  needed.  It  was  the  Hul- 


ST.   JOHN'S  EVE.  105 

der  he  had  attempted  to  picture,  fair  as  she  stood 
before  his  soul's  eye.  But  the  sketch  before  him 
was  but  a  fair  mortal  maiden  :  that  unearthly 
longing  which  gave  its  character  to  the  tone  of 
her  loor,  and  that  unfathomable  depth  of  her 
eyes  —  that  which  really  made  her  the  Hulder  — 
he  had  failed  to  express.  As  he  sat  wondering 
what  the  fault  might  be,  a  strong  loor-tone  shook 
the  air  and  came  powerful  upon  him.  He  looked 
up,  and  saw  Brita,  the  fair-haired  saeter-maid, 
standing  on  a  hillock  a  few  hundred  yards  from 
him,  blowing  her  loor  to  call  the  cattle  home. 
Glancing  at  the  sun,  and  seeing  that  it  was  far 
past  milking-hour,  he  quickly  rose,  put  the  loor 
to  his  mouth,  and  gave  such  a  blast  that  the 
highlands  echoed  far  and  near.  Brita's  loor  an- 
swered ;  the  cattle  understood  the  welcome  sig- 
nal, and  started  for  the  saeter. 

"  Indeed,  you  are  a  nice  cattle-boy  ! "  cried 
Brita,  all  flushed  and  out  of  breath,  both  from 
her  running  and  from  indignation.  "  Did  n't  I 
tell  you  to  drive  the  flocks  home  early  to-night  1 
and  instead  of  that  you  keep  them  out  more 
5* 


106  GUNNAR. 


than  an  hour  after  time.  Now  we  shall  have 
to  stay  at  home  from  the  St.  John's  Hill,  all  of 
us,  only  for  your  laziness,  you  hateful  boy  ! " 

Brita  was  justly  indignant,  and  her  words  were 
huddled  forth  with  all  the  passionate  flurry  of 
womanly  wrath ;  but  before  she  had  finished  she 
found  herself  nearly  crying  at  the  prospect  of 
losing  all  the  sport  and  merriment  of  the  St. 
John's  Eve.  Gunnar,  conscious  of  his  guilt,  at- 
tempted no  apology.  As  soon  as  they  reached 
the  saeter,  all  the  girls  fell  to  milking  as  hard 
as  they  could,  and,  much  against  his  will,  he 
was  obliged  to  assist  them.  When  the  cattle 
were  disposed  of,  they  all  started  for  the  St. 
John's  Hill,  which  lay  about  midway  between 
the  saeter  and  the  valley.  As  they  approached 
the  lake-shore,  a  pair  of  screaming  loons  flew 
up  from  their  nest  among  the  rushes.  It  was 
still  bright  day  when  they  gained  the  pine  re- 
gion. A  confused  murmur  rose  from  below;  as 
they  came  nearer  they  could  distinguish  the 
strain  of  many  violins,  the  song  of  women,  and 
the  loud  shouts  of  the  men. 


ST.  JOHN'S  EVE.  107 

"  No,  indeed !  I  cannot  run  at  this  rate," 
groaned  one  of  the  girls,  as  she  let  herself  drop 
down  on  a  large,  moss-grown  stone.  "If  you 
have  a  mind  to  kill  yourself  for  one  dance,  more 
or  less,  you  may  gladly  do  so.  I  shall  not  move 
one  step  farther  until  I  am  rested.  Will  you 
wait  for  me,  Gunnar  ?  for  Brita  hardly  will,  as 
long  as  she  knows  that  Endre  is  dancing  with 
some  other  girl,  down  on  the  hill." 

Gunnar  promised  to  wait. 

"  A  poor  set  of  girls  we  have  here  in  the  val- 
ley," said  Brita,  laughing,  "who  can  hear  the 
fiddles  calling,  and  the  lads  shouting,  and  then 
can  talk  of  rest.  So  tired  I  never  was,  and  hope 
never  to  be."  So  saying,  she  ran  down  the 
steep  road,  and  soon  was  out  of  sight.  One  of 
the  girls  followed,  the  other  remained. 

On  the  long  and  even  slope  from  the  high- 
lands to  the  fjord,  there  is  not  seldom  found  an 
abrupt  and  steep  projection,  as  if  the  mountain 
all  of  a  sudden  had  thrust  out  its  back,  and  de- 
termined to  check  the  luxuriant  vegetation  be- 
low, which  threatens  to  grow  straight  up  over 


108  GUNNAR. 


its  ears.  From  such  a  projection  the  eye  has 
a  wide  range,  both  upward  to  the  mountains 
and  downward  to  the  sea;  for  the  pine  is  too 
clumsy  to  climb,  and  the  dwarf  birch  is  neither 
thick  nor  tall  enough  to  hinder  the  sight.  It 
was  on  a  ridge  like  this  that  Gunnar  and  the 
saeter-maid  were  resting.  From  above  they  saw 
the  sun  flooding  with  fire  the  western  horizon, 
and  the  purple-burning  glaciers  gleaming  and 
flashing.  Below  rose  the  waving  crowns  of  the 
pine  forest,  with  its  heavy  green  hue  slightly 
tinged  with  the  flush  of  the  sunset.  Here  and 
there  a  tall,  slender  fir,  forgetful  of  the  winter 
storms,  lifted  its  airy  head  high  above  its  hum- 
bler fellows,  and  graciously  nodded  to  some  ad- 
miring birches  at  its  foot.  In  a  wide  opening 
between  the  thick-growing  pine-trunks  lay  the 
St.  John's  Hill,  which  was,  however,  no  hill,  but 
rather  a  large  and  sunlit  glade.  From  the  cen- 
tre of  this  glade  a  huge  bonfire,  strangely  wrest- 
ling with  the  sunset,  threw  its  glaring  light  upon 
a  dense  mass  of  human  life,  whirling  away  over 
the  plain  in  wild  enchantment.  A  thin,  trans- 


ST.  JOHN'S  EVE.  109 

parent  dusk  seemed  to  rise  from  below,  as  the 
sun  sunk  deeper  behind  the  glaciers.  The  for- 
est drew  its  dark,  steady  outline  on  the  horizon 
in  effective  contrast  to  the  wild,  flushing  scene 
it  embraced. 

"  Now  I  suppose  you  are  rested,"  said  Gunnar 
to  the  saeter-maid,  who,  like  himself,  seemed 
anxious  to  take  an  active  part  in  the  merriment 
below. 

"Yes,  thank  you,"  said  she,  and  they  both 
arose. 

After  a  short  walk  they  arrived  at  the  St. 
John's  Hill,  where  he  immediately  lost  sight  of 
his  companion ;  he  hardly  had  time  to  realize 
where  he  was,  before  he  felt  himself  hurried 
along  into  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  where  the 
stunning  noise,  the  fire,  and  the  strange  people 
worked  his  senses  up  to  such  a  pitch  of  excite- 
ment that  at  last  he  was  not  sure  whether  he 
was  standing  on  his  feet  or  his  head.  Another 
boy  of  about  his  own  age,  seeing  how  frightened 
he  looked,  went  up  to  him,  and  fired  his  gun 
close  to  his  ear.  That  suddenly  brought  him 


110  GUNNAR. 


back  to  his  senses ;  the  blood  rushed  to  his  face, 
'he  clinched  his  fist,  and  dealt  the  boy  a  blow 
right  under  his  left  eye,  so  that  he  tumbled 
backwards.  His  opponent,  however,  jumped  to 
his  feet,  and  returned  the  blow  with  good  effect. 
In  the  next  moment  they  held  each  other  in 
close  embrace,  and  a  hot  fight  ensued.  The  peo- 
ple flocked  densely  around  them,  encouraging 
them  with  shouts  of  approval;  and  they  both 
fought  as  if  their  lives  were  at  stake.  At  first, 
Gunnar  seemed  likely  to  be  the  loser,  as  he 
received  more  blows  than  he  gave ;  but  this  rath- 
er added  to  his  strength.  The  boy  tried  re- 
peatedly to  trip  his  foot,  but  he  was  on  his 
guard;  then  he  made  a  last  rush  at  him,  and 
they  both  fell,  the  boy  under  and  Gunnar  upon 
him.  He  was  just  rising,  proud  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  his  victory,  when  he  saw  a  tall,  grave 
man  elbowing  his  way  through  the  throng.  The 
man  walked  rapidly  up  to  the  combatants,  gave 
each  of  them  a  box  on  the  ear,  seized  Gunnar's 
adversary  by  the  arm,  and  carried  him  off.  The 
people  roared  with  laughter.  Then,  instead  of 


ST.  JOHN'S  EVE.  Ill 

pride  in  his  victory,  a  feeling  of  shame  stole 
over  him.  He  ran  away  as  fast  as  his  feet  could 
carry  him,  —  away  from  the  fire,  the  din,  and 
the  people.  Tired  and  confused,  he  sank  down 
on  the  soft  moss,  buried  his  face  in  his  hands, 
and  felt  unhappy  as  he  had  never  felt  before. 

He  did  not  know  how  long  he  had  been  lying 
in  this  position,  when  he  heard  a  well-known 
voice  hard  by.  It  was  the  voice  of  Ragnhild, 
the  widow  of  Rimul's  daughter.  "  Who  was 
the  boy  who  struck  Lars]"  said  she. 

"  It  was  Gunnar,  your  cattle-boy,"  answered 
another  voice,  which  he  concluded  to  be  that 
of  Gudrun,  the  timid  little  girl  he  had  seen  at 
Rimul. 

"  Gunnar,  our  cattle-boy  !  " 
.  "  Why,  yes,  of  course.  Lars  came  and  fired 
his  gun  right  in  his  ear,  so  it  was  no  wonder 
he  struck.  I  only  wish  he  could  be  at  hand 
when  Lars  strikes  me ;  I  never  dare  tell  it  to 
father,  for  when  father  strikes,  he  always  strikes 
too  hard,  and  then  both  mother  and  I  cry." 

Ragnhild    was   about   to   make   some   remark, 


112  GUNNAR. 


when  Gunnar,  who  lay  half  concealed  in  the  tall 
heather,  raised  himself  on  his  elbows,  to  make 
them  aware  of  his  presence.  Gudrun  was  a  little 
frightened  at  his  unexpected  appearance,  but 
Ragnhild  walked  up  to  him,  sat  down  in  the 
heather,  and  tried  to  open  a  conversation. 

"  Why  do  you  like  so  much  to  fight  ? "  said 
she. 

Gunnar  did  not  know  what  to  answer;  he 
felt  as  if  he  had  something  in  his  throat  which 
nearly  choked  him.  She  fixed  her  large  blue 
eyes  upon  him  with  an  earnest,  half-reproachful 
look.  Then  suddenly  the  tears  rushed  to  his 
eyes,  he  pressed  his  burning  face  down  in  the 
moss,  and  wept  as  only  a  child  can  weep.  He 
felt  her  hand  on  his  head,  and  her  fingers  glid- 
ing through  his  hair.  And  there  he  lay  weeping, 
until  at  last,  consoled  by  Ragnhild's  tenderness, 
he  forgot  the  cause  of  his  grief,  and  before  long 
was  engaged  in  a  lively  dispute  writh  the  little 
girls.  Ragnhild,  who  had  wondered  ever  since 
they  first  met  at  his  strange  story  about  Neck- 
en,  now  eagerly  sought  further  information ;  and 


ST.  JOHN'S  EVE.  113 

knowing  little  of  the  world  of  wonder,  which  he 
loved  with  life  and  soul,  she  could  not  conceal 
her  doubt  at  the  startling  things  he  told  her. 
He,  of  course,  grew  the  more  zealous,  being  op- 
posed ;  and  the  girls,  who  were  naturally  no 
less  superstitious  than  he,  were  only  too  willing 
to  be  persuaded.  He  was  just  deep  in  the  won- 
drous tale  of  Saemund  of  Fagerlien  and  Margit 
of  Elgerfold,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  the 
same  tall  man  who  had  interfered  in  his  combat 
an  hour  ago.  He  came  to  take  Ragnhild  and 
Gudnm  home.  "It  is  near  midnight,  children," 
said  he,  in  a  deep  voice,  "and  the  way  home- 
ward is  long."  And  as  they  went  they  cried 
their  good-night  to  him  from  the  distance.  He 
followed  slowly  and  returned  to  the  glade,  where 
the  fire  was  still  blazing  high,  and  the  dance 
wilder  than  ever.  There  he  met  Rhyme-Ola, 
who  told  him  that  the  boy  he  had  fought  with 
was  Lars  Henjum,  and  that  the  tall  man  who 
struck  them  was  Atle,  Lars' s  father. 

After  a  time  the  music  ceased,  and  the  merry 
dancers,  both  lads   and  maidens,  thronged  round 


114  GUNNAR. 


the  fire,  where  they  sat  down  in  a  close  ring,  and 
talked,  jested,  and  laughed,  little  heeding  the 
waning  hours  and  the  solemn  silence  of  the  forest. 
It  was  a  gay  scene,  indeed,  and  one  which  would 
have  filled  an  artist  with  rapture.  How  fair  did 
those  fresh,  healthy  faces  appear,  blushing,  per- 
haps, with  a  little  deeper  tinge  as  the  glow  of  the 
fire  fell  over  their  features  !  Here  sat  one  leaning 
forward,  with  his  hands  knit  around  his  knees, 
watching  the  flames  in  pensive  silence ;  there, 
next  to  him,  a  merry  couple,  too  much  occupied 
with  each  other  to  take  notice  of  what  was  going 
on  around  them.  The  young  man  was  Endre,  the 
same  who  had  opened  the  dance  at  the  Rimul 
saeter  on  the  evening  of  their  arrival  at  the  high- 
lands ;  and  who  should  the  girl  be  but  the  bright- 
eyed  Brita,  with  the  deep  dimples  in  her  cheeks? 
Endre  must  have  been  very  interesting ;  for 
whenever  he  spoke,  Brita  laughed,  blushed,  and 
now  and  then  turned  half  away,  as  if  to  avoid 
his  gaze,  while  he  sat  bending  over  towards  her, 
intently  watching  her  face. 

As  the  night  advanced,  and  the  soft  night-fog 


ST.   JOHN'S  EVE.  115 

spread  over  the  forest,  their  minds  were  impercep- 
tibly attuned  to  the  supernatural.  Now  was  the 
time  for  wonder-tales  and  legends ;  and  there  was 
none  who  could  tell  like  Rhyme-Ola  :  there  were 
few  who  denied  that.  So  Rhyme-Ola  was  called 
upon  for  a  story ;  and  there  was  no  need  of  ask- 
ing him  twice,  for  there  was  nothing  he  liked  bet- 
ter than  story-telling.  It  was  Rhyme-Ola's  arrival 
which  interrupted  Brita's  and  Endre's  conversa- 
tion. He  came  from  behind  them,  and  politely 
asked  to  be  admitted  into  the  ring,  for  he  hardly 
could  tell  his  story  otherwise. 

"  Jump  over,  Rhyme-Ola,"  proposed  Endre  ;  but 
before  the  singer  could  have  time  to  follow  the 
advice,  he  seized  him  round  the  waist,  lifted  him 
high  above  his  head,  and  amid  a  roar  of  laughter 
from  the  company,  put  him  down  within  the  ring 
right  before  the  fire.  Rhyme-Ola,  being  well  used 
to  sport  of  this  kind,  took  it  in  good  part,  straight- 
ened his  little  figure,  winked  with  his  sad  eyes, 
drew  his  mouth  up  to  his  customary  smile,  and 
began  his  story. 

When '  it  was  ended  the  narrator  let  his  eyes 


116  GVNNAR. 


slowly  glide  from  face  to  face  along  the  listening 
circle,  and  saw,  not  without  satisfaction,  the  fright- 
ened expressions  and  half-open  mouths  which  suffi- 
ciently assured  him  that  he  had  succeeded  in 
securing  attention.  But  in  all  that  crowd  there 
was  hardly  one  who  listened  with  so  intense  an 
interest  as  Gunnar.  As  soon  as  the  tale  had 
commenced  he  had  joined  the  group  and  quietly 
taken  his  seat  behind  Brita's  back,  where  he 
was  still  sitting  when  Rhyme-Ola  found  him. 

"Gunnar,"  said  Rhyme-Ola,  "I  have  something 
I  want  to  tell  you."  And  he  gently  urged  the 
boy  on  until  they  were  out  of  hearing.  Then, 
leaning  against  a  large,  white-stemmed  birch-tree, 
he  fixed  his  strange  eyes  on  Gunnar  and  began 
again. 

"  I  have  been  at  Rimul  to-day,"  said  he,  "  and 
I  have  seen  the  widow."  Here  he  hesitated, 
smiled  his  melancholy  smile,  and  winked. 

"  I  asked  the  widow  of  Rimul,"  he  went  on,  "if 
she  had  not  some  cattle  for  me  to  watch  too. 
She  said  she  had.  So,  now  I  shall  always  be 
with  you,  Gunnar."  And  all  his  face  laughed  as 


ST.  JOHN'S  EVE.  117 

he  cried  out  the  last  words.  Gunnar  stood  for  a 
moment  staring  at  his  strange  companion. 

"What  did  you  say  1 "  asked  he. 

"  From  this  time  I  shall  always  be  with  you/* 
repeated  Rhyme-Ola,  laughing.  "  Now  it  is  time 
to  go  home,"  added  he ;  "  it  is  very  late,  or,  rath- 
er, very  early." 

Soon  they  were  on  their  way,  and  reached  the 
saeter  at  sunrise. 


VIII. 


GROWTH. 

I  LESS  my  soul !  what  is  it  the  boy 
has  been  doing  1"  cried  Brita,  as  her 
eyes  fell  upon  the  drawing  which  Gun- 
iiar  had  left  standing  before  his  bed.  It  was 
the  morning  after  St.  John's  Eve,  and  Brita  had 
come  to  wake  him.  Gunnar,  before  whose  dreamy 
vision  the  variegated  scenes  and  impressions  of 
the  night  still  were  hovering,  started  up  half 
frightened,  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  asked  what  was 
the  matter. 

"Why,  boy,  what  have  you  been  doing]"  re- 
peated Brita  in  a  tone  which  made  Gunnar  believe 
that  it  was  something  terrible  he  was  suspected 
of  having  done  ;  "  have  you  been  trying  to  make 
a  picture  of  little  Ragnhild  1 " 

"  No,   indeed,    I  have   not,"   asserted  Gunnar, 


GROWTH.  119 


still  with  a  vague  impression  that  such  an  attempt 
would  be  an  imp  rdonable  boldness. 

"  Then,  what  does  this  mean  1 "  said  Brita, 
holding  the  drawing  up  before  him.  A  stream 
of  sunlight  glided  in  through  the  airhole  in  the 
wall  and  struck  the  picture ;  but  it  went  farther 
and  struck  Gunnar  too.  What  he  had  not  known 
before,  he  knew  now.  It  was  not  the  Hulder  : 
it  was  Ragnhild.  He  felt  the  blood  mount  to  his 
temples,  dropped  his  eyes  like  a  convicted  culprit, 
and  remained  silent. 

Days  came  and  days  went,  the  summer  sped, 
and  autumn  drew  near.  The  wide  highland  with 
its  freshness  and  freedom  had  become  as  a  home 
to  Gunnar ;  he  longed  no  more  for  the  valley ; 
nay,  sometimes  he  even  felt  a  strange  dread  of 
being  closed  in  again  under  the  shadow  of  those 
stern,  inexorable  mountains,  now  that  his  sight 
had  been  widened  by  the  distance,  and  his  thought 
had  gained  height  and  strength  in  the  play  with 
the  infinite. 

Rhyme-Ola  was  a  great  help  to  Gunnar,  for  a 
strong  friendship  bound  them  to  each  other. 


120  GUNNAR 


The  boy  soon  became  familiar  with  his  friend's 
peculiar  ways,  so  they  no  longer  disturbed  him; 
and  the  songster,  to  whom  sympathy  and  affec- 
tion were  new  experiences,  felt  spring  spread  in 
his  soul,  and  with  every  day  that  passed  the  boy 
became  dearer  to  him.  He  sung  him  sad,  and  he 
sung  him  gay ;  for  there  was  power  and  depth  in 
Rhyme-Ola's  song  :  moreover,  there  was  this  pe- 
culiarity about  it,  that  as  soon  as  he  struck  the 
first  note,  the  sky,  the  lake,  and  the  whole  land- 
scape around  seemed  to  fall  in  with  it,  and  to  as- 
sume the  tone  and  color  of  the  song.  It  was  as 
much  a  part  of  the  highland  nature  as  the  shrill 
cry  of  the  loon  or  the  hollow  thunder  of  the  ava- 
lanche •  in  the  distant  ravines.  Thus  Giumar 
grew ;  and  Rhyme-Ola's  song  grew  with  him  and 
into  him,  opening  his  ear  to  the  unheard,  his 
eye  to  the  unseen,  and  lifting  his  fancy  to  bolder 
flight. 

As  long  as  the  sun  sent  life  and  summer  to  the 
earth,  Gunnar  and  his  friend  remained  at  the  s*te- 
ter  watching  the  cattle.  The  cows  were  intrusted 
to  G  minor's  care,  while  the  singer  gave  his  whole 


GROWTH.  121 


attention  to  the  sheep  and  the  goats.  In  the 
morning  they  would  always  start  in  different 
directions,  the  one  following  the  eastern  shore  of 
the  lake,  and  the  other  the  western.  At  noon 
they  would  meet  at  the  northern  end,  on  the  rock 
which  had  been  the  scene  of  their  first  encounter. 
Then,  while  the  sun  stood  high  and  the  cattle  lay 
in  their  noon  rest,  Rhyme-Ola  sat  down  and  sung, 
and  Gunnar  would  take  his  board  and  draw.  He 
could  never  draw  so  well  as  when  he  heard  those 
weird  tunes  ringing  in  his  ears ;  then  the  mind 
teemed  with  great  ideas,  and  the  hand  moved 
as  of  itself.  At  first  it  was  mostly  Hulders  he 
drew,  but  at  the  end  of  another  month  he  gave  up 
these  attempts  as  vain.  Then  his  companion  also 
changed  his  song ;  and  now  old  heroic  ballads 
gave  a  new  turn  to  his  mind  and  new  subjects  for 
his  pencil.  His  illustrations  of  his  old  favorite 
story  of  the  poor  boy  who  married  the  princess 
gained  him  great  praise  wherever  they  were 
shown.  Rhyme-Ola  declared  them  absolutely  un- 
rivalled. Thus  encouraged,  he  for  some  time 
devoted  himself  to  similar  subjects,  and  peopled 


122  GUNNAR. 

his  birch-bark  with  the  loving  virgins  and  gigan- 
tic heroes  of  the  ballads. 

The  summer  fled,  like  a  delightful  dream,  from 
which  you  wake  just  in  the  moment  when  it  is 
dearest  to  you,  and  you  vainly  grasp  after  it  in 
its  flight. 

Before  long  Gunnar  sat  again  in  his  old  place 
on  the  floor  at  the  fireside,  in  the  long  dark  win- 
ter nights,  giving  life  and  shape  to  old  Gunhild's 
never-ending  stories  and  his  own  recollections 
from  the  summer.  Rhyme-Ola  was  again  roaming 
about  from  one  end  of  the  valley  to  another,  as 
had  always  been  his  custom ;  he  never  had  any 
scruples  in  accepting  people's  hospitality,  as  he 
always  gave  full  return  for  what  he  received,  and 
he  well  knew  that  his  songs  and  tales  made  him 
everywhere  welcome.  The  next  summer  they 
again  watched  the  Rimul  cattle  together;  and 
while  the  one  sung  the  other  drew,  and  they  were 
happy  in  each  other;  for  Gunnar's  sympathy 
warmed  his  friend's  lonely  heart,  and  Rhyme-Ola's 
song  continued  to  Gunnar  an  ever-flowing  source 
of  inspiration. 


GROWTH.  123 


Now  and  then  the  widow  of  Rimul  would  come 
up  to  the  saeter  to  see  how  the  niaids  and  the  cat- 
tle were  doing ;  and  Ragnhild,  her  daughter,  who 
had  a  great  liking  for  the  highlands  and  the  sae- 
ter-life,  always  followed  her  on  such  occasions. 
It  was  the  common  opinion  in  the  valley  that 
Ingeborg  Rimul  still  carried  her  head  rather  high, 
and  there  were  those  who  prophesied  that  the 
time  would  surely  come  when  she  would  learn  to 
stoop.  For  the  stiffest  neck  is  the  surest  to  be 
bent,  said  they ;  and  if  it  does  not  bend,  it  will 
break. 

Ragnhild  seemed  to  have  more  of  her  father's 
disposition,  had  a  smile  and  a  kind  word  for  every- 
body. She  was  never  allowed  to  go  out  among 
other  people,  and  she  seldom  saw  children  of  her 
own  age.  Her  cousin  Gudrun  Henjum  was  her 
only  companion ;  for  she  was  of  the  family.  Gu- 
drun had  not  seen  twelve  winters  before  Ingeborg 
Rimul  asked  her  brother,  Atle  Henjum,  if  she 
might  not  just  as  well  make  Rimul  her  home  al- 
together. Atle  thought  she  might;  for  Gudrun 
and  Ragnhild  were  very  fond  of  each  other.  Thus 


124  GUNNAR. 


it  happened  that,  wherever  the  one  came,  there 
came  the  other  also ;  and  when  they  rode  to  the 
saeter,  they  would  sit  in  two  baskets,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  horse. 

Brita  had  of  course  told  the  widow  about  Gun- 
nar's  picture,  and  once,  when  Ingeborg  was  at  the 
saeter,  she  asked  him  to  show  it  to  her.  She  was 
much  pleased  with  the  likeness,  praised  the  artist, 
and  offered  to  buy  the  drawing ;  but  Gunnar  re- 
fused to  sell  it.  A  few  weeks  afterwards,  how- 
ever, when  Ragnhild  expressed  her  admiration  for 
his  art,  he  gave  it  to  her.  Then  Ragnhild  wished 
to  see  his  other  productions ;  he  brought  them 
and  explained  them  to  her  and  Gudrun,  and  they 
both  took  great  delight  in  listening  to  him;  for 
he  told  them,  in  his  own  simple  and  glowing  lan- 
guage, of  all  the  strange  thoughts,  hopes,  and 
dreams  which  had  prompted  the  ideas  to  these 
pictures.  Also  Rhyme-Ola's  tales  of  Trolds  and 
fairies  did  he  draw  to  them  in  words  and  lines 
equally  descriptive ;  and  for  many  weeks  to  come 
the  girls  talked  of  nothing,  when  they  were  alone, 
but  Gunnar  and  his  wonderful  stories.  Before 


GROWTH.  125 


long  they  also  found  themselves  looking  forward 
with  eagerness  to  their  saeter  visits ;  and  Gunnar, 
who  took  no  less  delight  in  telling  than  they  did 
in  listening,  could  not  help  counting  the  days 
from  one  meeting  to  another. 

"  I  do  wish  Lars  could  tell  such  fine  stories  as 
Gunnar  does,"  exclaimed  Gudrun  one  evening  as 
they  were  returning  from  the  saeter. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Ragnhild,  "  but  I  rather  wish 
Gunnar  could  come  to  Kimul  as  often  as  Lars. 
Lars  can  never  talk  about  anything  but  horses 
and  fighting." 

Now  it  was  told  for  certain  in  the  parish,  that 
Atle  Henjum  and  Ingeborg  Rimul  had  made  an 
agreement  to  have  their  children  joined  in  mar- 
riage, when  the  time  came,  and  they  were  old 
enough  to  think  of  such  things.  For  Henjum 
and  Rimul  were  only  separated  by  the  river,  and 
if,  as  the'  parents  had  agreed,  both  estates  were 
united  under  Lars  Henjum,  Atle's  oldest  son,  he 
would  be  the  mightiest  man  in  all  that  provinceTx. 
and  the  power  and  influence  of  the  family  would 
be  secured  for  many  coming  generations.  Who 


126  GUNNAR. 


had  made  Lars  acquainted  with  this  arrangement 
it  is  difficult  to  tell ;  for  his  father  had  never  been 
heard  to  speak  of  it,  except,  perhaps,  to  his  sis- 
ter ;  but  small  pots  may  have  long  ears,  as  the 
saying  is,  and  when  all  the  parish  knew  of  it,  it 
would  have  been  remarkable  if  it  had  not  reached 
Lars's  ears  too.  Few  people  liked  Lars,  for  he 
took  early  to  bragging,  and  he  often  showed  that 
he  knew  -  too  well  whose  son  he  was. 

The  next  winter  Gunnar  was  again  hard  at 
work  on  his  pictures,  and  although  Henjumhei 
was  far  away  from  the  church-road,  it  soon  was 
rumored  that  Thor  Henjumhei's  son  had  taken  to 
the  occupation  of  gentlefolks,  and  wanted  to  be- 
come a  painter.  And  the  good  people  shook  their 
heads ;  "  for  such  things,"  said  they,  "  are  neither 
right  nor  proper  for  a  houseman's  son  to  do,  as 
long  as  he  is  neither  sick  nor  misshapen,  and  his 
father  has  to  work  for  him  as  steadily  as  a  plough- 
horse.  But  there  is  unrest  in  the  blood,"  added 
they ;  "  Thor  made  a  poor  start  himself,  and  Gun- 
nar, his  father,  paid  dearly  enough  for  his  folly." 
On  Sundays,  after  service,  the  parishioners  always 


GROWTH.  127 


congregate  in  the  churchyard  to  greet  kinsmen 
and  friends,  and  discuss  parish  news ;  and  it  was 
certain  enough  that  Gunnar  Henjumhei's  name 
fared  ill  on  such  occasions.  At  last  the  parish 
talk  reached  Gunhild's  ear,  and  she  made  up  her 
mind  to  consult  her  son  about  the  matter;  for 
she  soon  found  out  that  Gunnar  himself  was  very 
little  concerned  about  it. 

"  It  is  well  enough,"  said  Gunhild,  "  to  turn  up 
your  nose  and  say  you  don't  care.  But  to  people 
like  us,  who  have  to  live  by  the  work  others  please 
to  give  us,  it  is  simply  a  question  of  living  or 
starving." 

But  Gunnar  never  listened  in  that  ear. 

One  night  the  boy  had  gone  over  to  Rimul  with 
some  of  his  latest  sketches  and  compositions,  and 
had  probably  been  invited  to  stay  to  supper.  In 
the  cottage  Thor  and  his  mother  were  sitting 
alone  at  their  meal. 

"  I  wonder  where  the  boy  is  to-night,"  remarked 
Gunhild. 

"  Most  likely  at  Rimul,  with  those  pictures  of 
his,"  said  Thor. 


128  GUNNAR. 


A  long  pause. 

"  A  handsome  lad  he  is,"  commenced  the  grand- 
mother. 

"  Handsome  enough ;  well-built  frame ;  doubt 
if  there  is  much  inside  of  it." 

"  Bless  you,  son !  don't  you  talk  so  unreason- 
ably. A  wonderful  child  he  is  and  ever  was,  and 
a  fine  man  he  will  make  too.  I  could  only  wish 
that  he  sometimes  would  bear  in  mind  that  he  is 
a  houseman's  son,  and  heed  a  little  what  people 
think  and  say  about  him." 

A  bitter  smile  passed  over  Thor's  face,  but  he 
made  no  answer. 

"  Then  I  thought,  Thor,"  continued  his  mother, 
"  that  Gunnar  is  old  enough  to  be  of  some  use  to 
you  now." 

"  So  he  is." 

"  The  saying  is,  that  his  name  fares  ill  on  the 
tongues  of  the  church-folk,  because  he  sees  his 
father  working  so  hard,  without  offering  to  help 
him,  and  sticks  so  close  to  that  picturing.  That 
will  never  lead  to  anything,  and  moreover  hardly 
becomes  a  houseman's  son." 


GROWTH.  129 


"Maybe   you   are   right,  mother." 
"  So  I  am,  son  ;  and  it  would  be  according  to 
my  wish  if  you  asked  the  boy  to-morrow  to  go 
out  with   you  timber-felling,  as   would  be  right 
and  proper  for  one  of  his  birth." 

The  next  morning  Gunnar  was  asked  to  follow 
his  father  to  the  woods.  He  went,  although  much 
against  his  wish,  as  he  was  just  at  that  time  de- 
signing a  grand  historical  composition  which  he 
was  very  anxious  to  take  hold  of.  Henceforward 
he  went  lumbering  in  the  winter,  and  herding  the 
Rimul  cattle  in  the  summer,  until  he  was  old 
enough  to  prepare  for  confirmation ;  *  for  every 
boy  and  girl  in  the  valley  had  to  be  confirmed, 
and  the  last  six  months  before  confirmation,  they 
had  to  go  to  the  parsonage  to  be  instructed  by 
the  kind  old  pastor.  Lars  Henjum  also  prepared 
for  confirmation  that  same  winter,  and  so  it  hap- 
pened that  he  and  Gunnar  often  met  at  the  par- 
sonage. 

*  Every  person  in  Norway  is  by  law  required  to  be  baptized 
and  confirmed  in  the  Lutheran  Church.  Before  confirmation 
the  candidate  has  to  undergo  a  public  examination  in  Bible 
history  and  the  doctrines  of  the  Church. 

6*  I 


130  GUNNAR. 


It  was  a  large,  airy  hall  in  which  the  "con- 
firmation youth"  met.  The  window-panes  were 
very  small  and  numerous,  and  had  leaden  sash- 
es ;  the  walls  were  of  roughly-hewn  lumber ;  and 
in  a  corner  stood  a  huge  mangle,  or  rolling-press, 
for  smoothing  linen.  On  one  side  of  the  hall  sat 
all  the  boys  on  benches,  one  behind  another  ;  on 
the  opposite  side  the  young  girls  ;  and  the  pastor 
at  a  little  table  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Right 
before  him  lay  a  large,  open  Bible  with  massive 
silver  clasps,  a  yellow  silk  handkerchief,  and  a  pair 
of  horn  spectacles,  which  he  frequently  rubbed, 
and  sometimes  put  on  his  nose.  The  pastor  had 
thin  gray  hair,  and  a  large,  smooth,  benevolent 
face,  always  with  a  pleasant  smile  on  it.  He  had 
the  faculty  of  making  sermons  out  of  everything  ; 
his  texts  he  chose  from  everywhere,  and  often  far 
away  from  Luther's  Catechism  and  Pontoppidan's 
Explanations.  His  object  was,  not  to  teach  theory 
and  doctrine,  but,  as  he  said  himself,  to  bring  re- 
ligion down  to  the  axe  and  the  plough ;  and  in 
this  he  certainly  was  eminently  successful.  In  his 
youth  he  had  visited  foreign  countries,  and  evi- 


GROWTH.  131 


dently  once  had  cherished  hopes  of  a  grander  lot 
than  a  country  parsonage.  Not  that  disappoint- 
ment had  imbittered  him  ;  on  the  contrary,  these 
glowing  dreams  of  his  youth  had  imparted  a 
warmer  flush  to  many  dreary  years  to  come  ;  and 
even  now,  when  he  was  old  and  gray,  this  warm, 
youthful  nature  would  often  break  through  the 
official  crust  and  shed  a  certain  strong,  poetic 
glow  over  all  his  thoughts  and  actions.  It  was 
from  this  man  that  Gunnar's  artistic  nature  re- 
ceived its  strongest  and  most  decisive  impulse. 
He  had  not  been  many  times  at  the  parsonage 
before  the  pastor's  attention  was  attracted  to 
him ;  for  he  made  good  answers,  and  his  ques- 
tions betokened  a  thoughtful  and  original  mind. 
Then  some  one  of  the  girls  had  told  one  of  the 
pastor's  daughters  that  the  "  Henjumhei  boy,"  as 
he  was  commonly  called,  was  such  a  wonder  for 
making  pictures ;  and  when,  on  request,  he  brought 
with  him  some  of  his  sketches,  the  pastor  praised 
them  and  asked  his  permission  to  take  them  in 
and  show  them  to  his  family.  The  result  of  this 
was  an  invitation  to  dinner  at  the  parsonage, 


132  GUNNAR. 


which  Gunnar,  of  course,  was  only  too  happy  to 
accept.  The  pastor  and  the  young  ladies  treated 
him  with  the  greatest  kindness,  and  gave  him 
every  possible  encouragement  to  go  on  in  the 
study  of  his  art.  In  the  evening  they  showed 
him  a  great  many  curious  books,  which  he  had 
never  seen  before,  and  beautiful  engravings  of  for- 
eign cities  and  countries,  where  there  were  flowers 
and  sunshine  all  the  year  round.  Gunnar  was 
dumb  with  astonishment  at  all  the  wonderful 
things  he  heard  and  saw,  and  did  not  even  re- 
member that  it  was  time  to  go  home,  until  the 
old  clock  surprised  him  by  striking  midnight. 
When  he  bade  them  all  good  night,  they  gave 
him  several  books  to  take  home,  and  paper  to 
draw  on. 

This  first  visit  to  the  parsonage  was  a  great 
event  in  Gunnar's  life ;  for,  from  that  time,  his 
longing  took  a  fresh  start,  and  it  grew  and  grew, 
until  it  outgrew  every  thought  and  emotion  of 
his  soul.  He  was  seventeen  years  now,  tall  and 
slender,  and  fair  to  look  at.  His  features  were 
not  strongly  marked,  but  of  a  delicate  and  al- 


GROWTH.  133 


most  maidenly  cut  ;  the  expression  was  clear  and 
open.  His  eyes  were  of  the  deepest  blue,  and 
had  a  kind  of  inward  gaze,  which,  especially 
when  he  smiled,  impressed  you  as  a  happy  con- 
sciousness of  some  beautiful  vision  within.  Had 
he  known  the  privilege,  claimed  by  artists,  of 
wearing  the  hair  long,  he  might  have  been  ac- 
cused of  affectation ;  but  as  artists  and  their 
fashions  were  equally  foreign  to  him,  the  pe- 
culiar cut  of  his  hair,  in  violation  of  all  parish 
laws,  might  be  owing  to  an  overruling  sense 
of  harmony  in  lines  and  proportions ;  for  the 
light,  wavy  contour  of  the  hair  certainly  formed 
a  favorable  frame  for  his  fair  and  youthful  fea- 
tures. 

Spring  was  again  near,  and  the  day  came  for 
his  confirmation.  It  was  a  clear,  blessed  spring 
Sunday,  —  a  day  on  which  you  might  feel  that 
it  is  sabbath,  even  if  you  did  not  know  it.  And 
to  the  young  people,  who  were  standing  that 
morning  at  the  little  country  church  waiting  for 
their  pastor,  it  was  sabbath  in  a  peculiar  sense. 
First  came  the  deacon,  and  read  the  paper  giving 


134  GUNNAR. 


the  order*  in  which  they  were  to  stand  in  the 
aisle  during  the  catechising.  Gunnar's  name  was 
called  first,  Lars  Henjum's  second.  Gunnar  had 
long  been  an  object  of  envy  among  the  other 
boys,  on  account  of  the  attention  paid  to  him  by 
"  gentlefolks " ;  but  that  the  pastor  should  have 
ventured  such  a  breach  on  the  traditions  of  the 
parish  as  to  put  a  houseman's  son  highest  in  the 
aisle  on  a  confirmation  Sunday,  was  more  than 
any  one  had  expected.  And,  of  course,  no  one  was 
more  zealous  in  denouncing  Gunnar  than  Lars 
Henjum;  for,  as  he  said,  he  was  the  man  who 
had  been  cheated.  Thus  it  was  with  unholy  feel- 
ings that  Lars  approached  the  altar. 

By  and  by  the  congregation  assembled  ;  all  the 
men  took  their  seats  on  the  right  side,  the  women 
on  the  left.  The  youth  were  ranged  in  two  long 
rows,  from  the  altar  down  to  the  door,  the  boys 
standing  beside  the  men's  pews,  and  the  girls  op- 

*  It  is  regarded  as  a  great  honor  to  stand  highest  in  the 
aisle  on  confirmation  Sunday.  It  is  customary  to  have  the 
candidates  arranged  according  to  scholarship,  but  more  than 
proper  regard  is  generally  paid  to  the  social  position  of  the 
parents. 


GROWTH.  135 


posite.  All  were  dressed  in  the  national  costume 
of  the  valley  :  the  boys  in  short  wool-colored  jack- 
ets, scarlet  silver-buttoned  vests,  and  light  tight- 
fitting  breeches  fastened  at  the  knees  with  shin- 
ing silver  buckles  ;  while  the  girls,  with  their  rich 
blond  hair,  their  bright  scarlet  bodices,  their  snow- 
white  linen  sleeves  and  bosoms  clasped  with  large 
silver  brooches,  their  short  black  skirts  with  edges 
interwoven  wTith  green  and  red  stripes,  formed 
with  their  transitions  and  combinations  of  color 
the  most  charming  picture  that  ever  delighted  a 
^ewre-painter's  eye.  In  their  hands  they  held 
their  hymn-books  and  carefully  folded  white  hand- 
kerchiefs. 

Every  child  looks  forward  with  many  hopes 
and  plans  to  the  day  of  confirmation,  for  it 
is  the  distinct  stepping-stone  from  childhood  to 
youth  ;  beyond  lie  the  dreams  of  womanhood 
and  the  rights  of  manhood.  In  this  chiefly  rests 
the  solemnity  of  the  rite. 

When  the  hymns  were  sung  and  the  cate- 
chising at  an  end,  the  venerable  pastor  ad- 
dressed his  simple,  earnest  words  to  the  young, 


136  GUNNAR. 


exhorting  them  to  remain  ever  faithful  to  their 
baptismal  vow,  which  they  were  this  day  to  repeat 
in  the  presence  of  the  congregation.  His  words 
came  from  the  heart,  and  to  the  heart  they 
went.  The  girls  wept,  and  many  a  boy  strug- 
gled hard  to  keep  back  the  unwelcome  tears. 
After  the  sermon  they  all  knelt  at  the  altar, 
and  while  the  pastor  laid  his  hands  upon  their 
heads,  they  made  their  vow  to  forsake  the  flesh, 
the  world,  and  the  Devil.  Then,  when  all  were 
gone,  the  pastor  called  Gunnar  into  his  study, 
where  he  talked  long  and  earnestly  with  him 
about  his  future.  There  was,  said  he,  an  acad- 
emy of  art  in  the  capital ;  and  if  it  was  the  wish 
of  both  Gunnar  and  his  father  that  he  should 
cultivate  his  talent  in  this  direction,  he  would 
be  glad  to  do  anything  in  his  power  to  promote 
his  interests.  From  his  university  days  he  knew 
many  wealthy  and  influential  people  in  the  capi- 
tal who  would  probably  be  willing  to  render 
him  assistance.  Gunnar  thanked  the  pastor  for 
his  good  advice,  said  he  would  consider  his  propo- 
sition, and  before  many  weeks  bring  him  back 


GROWTH.  137 


an  answer.  But  weeks  came  and  went,  and  the 
more  he  thought,  the  more  he  wavered ;  for 
there  was  something  that  kept  him  back. 

%The   next  year,    Ragnhild   and   Gudrun   were 
confirmed. 


IX. 

THE   SKEE-KACE.* 

IHE  winter  is  pathless  in  the  distant 
valleys  of  Norway,  and  it  would  be 
hard  to  live  there  if  it  were  not  for 
the  skees.  Therefore  ministers,  judges,  and  other 
officers  of  the  government  do  all  in  their  power 
to  encourage  the  use  of  skees,  and  often  hold 

*  Skees,  or  skier,  are  a  peculiar  kind  of  snow-shoes,  gen- 
erally from  six  to  ten  feet  long,  but  only  a  few  inches 
broad.  They  are  made  of  tough  pine-wood,  and  are  smoothly 
polished  on  the  under  side  to  make  them  glide  the  more  easily 
over  the  surface  of  the  snow.  In  the  middle  there  are  bands 
to  put  the  feet  in,  and  the  front  end  is  strongly  bent  upward. 
This  enables  the  skee,  when  in  motion,  to  slide  over  hillocks, 
logs,  and  other  obstacles,  instead  of  thrusting  against  them. 
The  skee  only  goes  in  straight  lines;  still,  the  runner  can, 
even  when  moving  with  the  utmost  speed,  change  his  course, 
at  pleasure,  by  means  of  a  long  staff,  which  he  carries  for  this 
purpose.  Skees  are  especially  convenient  for  sliding  down 
hill,  but  are  also  for  walking  in  deep  snow  far  superior  to  the 
common  American  snow-shoes. 


THE  SKEE-RACE.  139 

races,  at  which  the  best  runner  is  rewarded  with 
a  fine  bear-rifle  or  some  other  valuable  prize. 
The  judge  of  our  valley  was  himself  a  good 
sportsman,  and  liked  to  see  the  young  lads  quick 
on  their  feet  and  firm  on  their  legs.  This  win- 
ter (it  was  the  second  after  Gunnar's  confirma- 
tion) he  had  appointed  a  skee-race  to  take  place 
on  the  steep  hill  near  his  house,  and  had  in- 
vited all  the  young  men  in  the  parish  to  con- 
tend. The  rifle  he  was  to  give  himself,  and  it 
was  of  a  new  and  very  superior  kind.  In  the 
evening  there  was  to  be  a  dance  in  the  large 
court-hall,  and  the  lad  who  took  the  prize  was 
to  have  the  right  of  choice  among  all  the  maid- 
ens, gardrnan's  or  houseman's  daughter,  and  to 
open  the  dance. 

The  judge  had  a  fine  and  large  estate,  the 
next  east  of  Henjum ;  his  fields  gently  sloped 
from  the  buildings  down  toward  the  fjord,  but 
behind  the  mansion  they  took  a  sudden  rise 
toward  the  mountains.  The  slope  was  steep 
and  rough,  and  frequently  broken  by  wood-piles 
and  fences ;  and  the  track  in  which  the  skee- 


140  GUNNAR. 


runners  were  to  test  their  skill  was  intention- 
ally laid  over  the  roughest  part  of  the  slope 
and  over  every  possible  obstacle;  for  a  fence 
or  a  wood-pile  made  what  is  called  "a  good 
jump." 

It  was  about  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
The  bright  moonshine  made  the  snow-covered 
ground  sparkle  as  if  sprinkled  with  numberless 
stars,  and  the  restless  aurora  spread  its  glimmer- 
ing blades  of  light  like  an  immense  heaven- 
reaching  fan.  Now  it  circled  the  heavens  from 
the  east  to  the  western  glaciers,  now  it  folded 
itself  up  into  one  single,  luminous,  quivering 
blade,  and  now  again  it  suddenly  swept  along 
the  horizon,  so  that  you  seemed  to  feel  the 
cold,  fresh  waft  of  the  air  in  your  face.  The 
peasants  say  that  the  aurora  has  to  fan  the 
moon  and  the  stars  to  make  them  blaze  higher, 
as  at  this  season  they  must  serve  in  place  of 
the  sun.  Here  the  extremes  of  nature  meet ; 
never  was  light  brighter  than  here,  neither  has 
that  place  been  found  where  darkness  is  blacker. 
But  this  evening  it  was  all  light;  the  frost  was 


THE  SKEE-RACE.  HI 

hard  as  flint  and  clear  as  crystal.  From  twenty 
to  thirty  young  lads,  with  their  staves  and  skees 
on  their  shoulders,  were  gathered  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill,  and  about  double  the  number  of  young 
girls  were  standing  in  little  groups  as  specta- 
tors. 

The  umpires  of  the  race  were  the  judge  and 
his  neighbor,  Atle  Henjum.  The  runners  were 
numbered,  first  the  gardmen's  sons,  beginning 
with  Lars  Henjum,  then  the  housemen's  sons. 
The  prize  should  belong  to  him  who  could  go 
over  the  track  the  greatest  number  of  times 
without  falling ;  grace  in  running  and  indepen- 
dence of  the  staff  were  also  to  be  taken  into 
consideration.  "  All  ready,  boys ! "  cried  the 
judge ;  and  the  racers  buttoned  their  jackets  up 
to  the  neck,  pulled  their  fur-brimmed  caps  down 
over  their  ears,  and  climbed  up  through  the 
deep  snow  to  the  crest  of  the  hill.  Having 
reached  it,  they  looked  quite  small  from  the 
place  where  the  spectators  were  standing;  for 
the  hillside  was  nearly  four  hundred  feet  high, 
and  so  steep  that  its  white  surface,  when  seen 


142  GUNNAR. 


from  a  distance,  appeared  very  nearly  like  a  per- 
pendicular wall.  The  forest  stood  tall  and  grave 
in  the  moonshine,  with  its  dark  outline  on  both 
sides  marking  the  skee-track;  there  were,  at 
proper  intervals,  four  high  "jumps,"  in  which 
it  would  take  more  than  ordinarily  strong  legs 
to  keep  their  footing.  When  all  preparations 
were  finished,  the  judge  pulled  out  his  watch 
and  note-book,  tied  his  red  silk  handkerchief  to 
the  end  of  his  cane,  and  waved  it  thrice.  Then 
something  dark  was  seen  gliding  down  over  the 
glittering  field  of  snow ;  the  nearer  it  came,  the 
swifter  it  ran;  now  it  touched  the  ground,  now 
again  it  seemed  to  shoot  through  the  air,  like  an 
arrow  sent  forth  from  a  well-stretched  bow-string. 
In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  it  was  past  and 
nearly  out  of  sight  down  in  the  valley.  "  That 
was  Gunnar,"  whispered  Ragnhild  in  Gudrun's 
ear  (for,  of  course,  they  were  both  there).  "No 
one  can  run  the  track  like  him."  "No,  it  was 
Lars,"  replied  Gudrun;  "he  is  number  one  on 
the  list." 

"  Hurrah !      Well    done  ! "    cried    the    judge, 


THE  SKEE-RACE.  143 

turning  to  Atle  Henjum.  "  Heaven  be  praised, 
we  have  men  in  the  valley  yet !  Truly,  I  half 
feared  that  the  lad  might  not  be  found  who 
could  keep  his  footing  in  my  neck-breaking 
track." 

"The  old  Viking  blood  is  not  quite  extinct 
yet,"  remarked  Atle,  with  dignity ;  for  it  was 
Lars  who  had  opened  the  contest.  Now  one 
after  another  tried ;  but  some  fell  in  the  first, 
some  in  the  second  jump,*  and  single  skees  and 
broken  staves  shooting  down  the  track  told  the 
spectators  of  the  failures.  Some,  discouraged 
by  the  ill-luck  of  the  most  renowned  runners  in 
the  parish,  gave  up  without  trying.  At  last 
there  was  but  one  left,  and  that  was  Gunnar 
Henjumhei.  All  stood  waiting  for  him  with 
breathless  interest,  for  upon  him  depended  the 

*  A  fence,  wood-pile,  or  any  other  elevation  of  the  ground 
is  made  into  a  jump  by  filling  up  the  space  on  its  upper  side 
with  snow,  so  the  skee  may  slide  over  it.  On  the  lower  side  a 
good  deal  of  the  snow  is  generally  taken  away.  Thus  the 
skee-runner,  coming  in  full  speed  down  the  hill,  shoots  into  the 
air  ;  and  it  takes  a  good  deal  of  skill  and  practice  under  such 
circumstances  to  come  down  on  the  feet  without  allowing  the 
skees  to  lose  their  balance. 


144  GUNNAR. 


issue  of  the  race.  Something  like  a  drifting 
cloud  was  seen  for  up  between  the  snow-hooded 
pine-trees.  As  it  came  nearer  the  shape  of  a 
man  could  be  distinguished  in  the  drift. 

"0  Ragnhild,  you  squeeze  me  so  dreadfully," 
cried  Gudrun  in  a  subdued  voice;  but  Ragnhild 
heard  nothing.  "Ragnhild,  please,  Ragnhild,  I 
can  hardly  breathe."  A  chill  gust  of  wind  swept 
by,  and  blew  the  cold  snow  into  their  faces.  Ragn- 
hild drew  a  long  breath.  A  mighty  hurrah  rang 
from  mountain  to  mountain.  The  judge  shook 
his  head  :  he  did  not  know  who  had  deserved 
the  prize.  Gunnar  came  marching  up  the  hill- 
side, all  covered  with  snow,  and  looking  like  a 
wandering  snow-image ;  his  skees  he  had  flung 
over  his  shoulders.  All  the  young  people  flocked 
round  him  with  cheers  and  greetings.  He  was 
very  hot  and  flushed,  and  his  eyes  looked  eagerly 
around,  as  if  seeking  something ;  they  met  Ragn- 
hild's  triumphant  smile,  which  sufficiently  as- 
sured him  that  she  was  happy  with  him  in  his 
victory.  But  there  were  other  eyes  also  that 
were  watching  Ragnhild;  and,  suddenly,  struck 


THE  SKEE-RACE.  H5 

with  Lars's  dark,  ill-boding  glance,  she  blushed 
and  quickly  turned  away. 

"Would  you  object  to  another  race,  boys'?" 
asked  the  judge,  addressing  the  two  combatants. 

"  No  ! "  cried  they  both  ~in  the  same  breath. 
"Gunnar  will  have  to  run  first,"  added  Lars; 
"my  skee-band  is  broken,  so  I  shall  have  to 
go  and  cut  a  new  one."  Gunnar  declared  him- 
self willing  to  run  first,  and  again  climbed  the 
hill. 

"  It  is  fearfully  hot  here,"  whispered  Ragnhild 
to  her  cousin;  "come,  let  us  walk  up  along  the 
track." 

"Hot,  Ragnhild ]"  And  Gudrun  looked  ex- 
tremely puzzled. 

"  Yes,  come."  Near  the  last  great  jump  Ragn- 
hild stopped,  and  leaned  against  a  mighty  fir, 
whose  long,  drooping  branches,  with  their  spark- 
ling, frost-silvered  needles,  formed  a  kind  of  cage 
around  them.  Gudrun  sat  down  in  the  snow, 
and  looked  up  along  the  track.  "  There  he  is !  " 
whispered  she,  eagerly.  The  girls  were  just  step- 
ping forward  from  behind  the  tree,  when  Ragnhild 


146  GUNNAR. 


discovered  the  shape  of  a  man  on  the  other  side, 
and  in  the  same  moment  saw  a  large  pine-branch 
gliding  across  the  track  a  few  rods  above  the 
jumps.  There  was  no  time  to  think.  "0  Lars!" 
shrieked  she,  and  with  an  almost  supernatural 
power  she  hurled  the  branch  over  against  the 
man.  Again  a  snow-cloud  blustered,  and  swept 
by.  The  man  gazed  aghast  before  him,  and,  as 
if  struck  by  lightning,  fell  backwards  to  the 
ground,  —  for  it  was  Lars.  There  he  lay  for  a 
long  while ;  but  when  the  girls  were  out  of  sight, 
he  lifted  his  head  warily,  cast  a  furtive  glance 
over  to  the  great  fir,  and,  rising  to  his  feet, 
sneaked  down  towards  the  crowd.  Another  hur- 
rah struck  his  ear;  he  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
then  turned  slowly  round  and  walked  back  into 
the  woods. 

That  night  there  was  searching  and  asking  for 
Lars  far  and  wide ;  but  Lars  was  not  to  be  found ; 
and  when  the  judge  grew  tired  of  waiting,  the 
prize  was  awarded  to  Gunnar. 

When  the  umpires  and  the  young  lads  and 
maidens  had  betaken  themselves  to  the  dancing- 


THE  SKEE-RACE.  147 

hall,  and  the  ale-horns  were  already  passing 
round,  there  were  still  two  remaining  in  the 
forest.  The  one  was  sitting  in  the  snow,  with  her 
fair  young  face  buried  in  her  hands;  the  moon- 
shine fell  full  upon  her  golden  stream  of  hair ;  it 
was  Ragnhild,  and  Gudrun's  tearful  eyes  looked 
lovingly  and  pityingly  on  her. 

"  0  Ragnhild,  Ragnhild  ! "  sobbed  Gudrun,  no 
longer  able  to  master  her  emotion,  "  why  did  you 
never  tell  me?  And  I,  who  never  thought  it 
possible  !  If  you  could  only  have  trusted  in  me, 
Ragnhild ;  for  I  do  love  you  so  much."  And 
Gudrun  knelt  in  the  snow,  threw  her  arms  round 
her  neck,  and  wept  with  her.  Thus  they  sat, 
weeping  their  sorrow  away,  while  the  moon  looked 
down  on  them  in  wonder. 

"  0  dear,  how  foolish  I  am  ! "  sighed  Gudrun, 
as  she  rose,  and  shook  the  snow  from  her  skirts. 
"  Come,  Ragnhild,  let  us  go  :  it  is  too  cold  for 
you  to  be  sitting  here."  The  other  wiped  the 
tears  from  her  eyes,  and  they  both  set  out  for  the 
court-hall,  where  the  dance  was  soon  to  begin. 
"  Do  you  think  anybody  will  notice  that  I  have 


148  GUNNAR. 


cried]"  asked  Ragnhild,  rubbing  her  cheeks  and 
eyes  with  her  apron,  anxious  to  efface  the  marks 
of  the  treacherous  tears. 

"  0  no,  dear  ! "  said  Gudrun,  taking  a  hand- 
ful of  snow  and  applying  it  to  her  eyes,  which, 
however,  did  not  produce  the  desired  effect.  Slow- 
ly they  walked  down  the  steep  hill  towards  the 
court-hall,  whence  they  could  already  hear  the 
alluring  strain  of  the  violins.  They  had  both  too 
much  to  think  of,  therefore  the  walk  was  a  silent 
one.  Only  now  and  then  Gudrun  would  draw  her 
arm  still  more  tightly  round  Ragnhild's  waist,  and 
Ragnhild  would  answer  with  a  warm,  speaking 
look. 

"Ragnhild,  halloo!"  The  girls  stopped  and 
looked  doubtingly  at  each  other,  as  if  each  one 
expected  the  other  to  answer ;  for  they  well  knew 
that  the  voice  was  Gunnar's. 

"  Gudrun,  halloo  ! "  came  the  shout  again,  and 
stronger  than  before ;  it  struck  the  border  of  the 
forest,  rebounded  again,  and  came  sailing  down 
toward  them.  "Shall  I  answer?"  whispered 
Gudrun. 


THE  SKEE-RACE.  149 


"Yes  —  0  no,  don't."  But  the  counter-order 
either  came  late  or  was  not  heard;  Gudrun  had 
already  answered. 

"  Halloo  ! "  cried  she,  and  a  wanton  echo  played 
with  her  voice,  tossed  it  against  the  mountain- 
side, and  caught  it  again.  Another  call;  and  in 
the  light  of  the  moon  they  saw  Gunnar's  tall 
figure  coming  up  the  hill  on  his  skees.  With  a 
long  staff  he  pushed  himself  forward.  Soon  he 
was  at  their  side.  "  Well  met,  girls  !  "  cried  he, 
gayly,  as  he  jumped  oif  his  skees  and  extended 
one  hand  to  each  of  them.  "  I  was  half  afraid 
that  Lars  had  already  dragged  you  home,  since  I 
could  not  find  you  anywhere." 

Here,  suddenly  struck  with  the  grave  expres- 
sion of  their  countenances,  and  perhaps  also 
discovering  the  marks  of  recent  tears,  he  paused, 
and  looked  wonderingly  at  them.  Ragnhild  had 
a  feeling  that  she  ought  to  speak,  but  somehow  or 
other  both  voice  and  words  failed  her.  Then  she 
raised  her  eyes  and  met  his  wondering  gaze. 
"  Ragnhild,"  said  he,  warmly,  walking  right  up  to 
her,  "  what  has  happened  ] " 


150  GVNNAR. 


"  I  am  very  glad  you  slid  so  well  to-day,  Guii- 
nar,"  said  she,  evading  the  question. 

"  Are  you,  truly  1 " 

"Yes,"  softly.  How  happy  that  word  made 
him !  Another  pause ;  for  that  assurance  was 
sweet  to  rest  on.  "  The  track  was  steep,"  re- 
marked she  after  a  while. 

"  So  it  was." 

"  I  wonder  you  did  not  fall." 

"Fall!  0  Ragnhild,  I  could  slide  down  the 
steepest  mountain-side,  if  only  you  would  stand 
by  and  look  at  me."  Something  drove  the  blood 
to  her  cheek ;  he  saw  it  and  his  courage  grew ; 
there  came  new  fervor  and  manly  reliance  into 
his  own  voice.  "I  don't  know  why,  Ragnhild, 
but  whenever  your  eyes  rest  on  me,  I  feel  myself 
so  strong,  —  so  strong." 

They  were  near  the  court-yard;  the  noise  of 
the  fiddles  and  the  merriment  within  rose  above 
his  voice.  Three  men  on  skees  came  out  from 
the  yard  and  approached  them.  "  Hurrah,  boys  ! 
here  we  have  the  prize-racer,"  cried  one  of  them. 
"  Ah,  fair  Ragnhild  of  Rimul  !  You  are  racing 


THE  SKEE-RACE.  151 

for  a  high  prize  there,  Gunnar  Henjumhei." 
"Doubt  if  you  will  win  in  that  race,  Gunnar 
Houseman's  son,"  shouted  another.  "  The  track 
is  steep  from  Henjumhei  to  Rimul,"  said  the 
third;  "the  river  flows  swift  between." 

The  three  men  had  passed.  It  was  long  before 
any  one  spoke.  "  How  cold  it  is  ! "  said  Gudrun, 
and  shivered ;  and  they  all  snivered.  A  stealthy 
frost  had  crept  between  them.  It  froze  Gunnar's 
courage,  it  froze  Ragnhild's  life-hope.  A  house- 
man's son !  On  this  day  of  his  victory,  so  young 
and  so  strong,  and  still  only  a  houseman's  son ! 
They  were  at  the  door  of  the  court-hall.  He 
looked  for  Ragnhild,  but  she  was  gone.  She  also 
had  left  him.  Well,  he  was  nothing  but  a  house- 
man's son,  and  she  the  richest  heiress  in  the 
valley.  She  herself  knew  that  too,  of  course. 
The  river  flows  deep  between  Henjumhei  and 
Rimul.  The  music  from  within  came  over  him, 
wild  and  exciting;  and  suddenly  seized  by  the 
wildness  of  the  tones,  he  threw  his  head  back, 
sprang  forward,  and  bounded  into  the  hall.  The 
crowd  made  way  for  him  as  he  came ;  up  he 


152  GUNNAR. 


leaped  again,  grazed  with  his  heel  a  beam  in  the 
ceiling,*  and  cauie  firmly  down  on  his  feet  in  the 
centre  of  the  dancing  throng.  The  people  rushed 
aside  and  formed  a  close  ring  around  him.  The 
men  gave  vent  to  their  feeling  in  loud  shouts  of 
approbation,  and  the  girls  looked  on  in  breathless 
admiration. 

"  A  leap  worthy  of  a  Norseman  ! "  said  one  of 
the  old  men,  when  the  noise  had  subsided. 

"  0  yes,"  cried  Gunnar,  with  a  defiant  laugh, 
"  worthy  of  a  Norseman,  worthy  of  even  a  — 
houseman's  son!  Ha,  ha,  ha!  strike  up  a' tune, 
and  that  a  right  lusty  one."  The  music  struck 
up,  he  swung  about  on  his  heel,  caught  the  girl 
who  stood  nearest  him  round  the  waist,  and 
whirled  away  with  her,  while  her  hair  flew  round 
her.  Suddenly  he  stopped  and  gazed  right  into 
her  face,  and  who  should  it  be  but  Ragnhild  1 


*  Among  the  peasantry  in  Norway,  it  is  considered  a  test 
of  great  strength  and  manliness  to  kick  the  beam  in  a  ceiling 
and  come  down  without  falling.  Boys  commence  very  early 
practising,  and  often  acquire  great  skill  in  this  particular 
branch  of  gymnastics.  He  is  regarded  as  a  weakling  who 
cannot  kick  his  own  height. 


THE  SKEE-RACE.  153 

She  begged  and  tried  to  release  herself  from  his 
arm,  but  he  lifted  her  from  the  floor,  made 
another  leap,  and  danced  away,  so  that  the  floor 
shook  under  them. 

"  Gunnar,  Gunnar,"  whispered  she,  "  please, 
Gunnar,  let  me  go."  He  heard  nothing.  "  Gun- 
nar," begged  she  again,  now  already  half  sur- 
rendering, "only,  think,  what  would  mother  say 
if  she  were  here1?"  But  now  she  also  began 
to  feel  the  spell  of  the  dance.  The  walls,  the 
roof,  and  the  people  began  to  whirl  round  her 
in  a  strange,  bewildering  circle ;  in  one  moment 
the  music  seemed  to  be  winging  its  way  to  her 
from  an  unfathomable  depth  in  an  inconceiva- 
ble, measureless  distance,  and  in  the  next  it  was 
roaring  and  booming  in  her  ears  with  the  rush 
and  din  of  an  infinite  cataract  of  tone.  Uncon- 
sciously her  feet  moved  to  its  measure,  her  heart 
beat  to  it,  and  she  forgot  her  scruples,  her  fear, 
and  everything  but  him  in  the  bliss  of  the  dance. 
For  those  Hulder-like  tones  of  the  Hardanger 
violin  never  fail  to  strike  a  responsive  chord  in 
the  heart  of  a  Norse  woman.  Gunnar  knew 
7* 


154  GUNNAR. 


how  to  tread  the  springing  dance,  and  no  one 
would  deny  him  the  rank  of  the  first  dancer  in 
the  valley.  Those  who  had  been  on  the  floor 
when  he  began  had  retired  to  give  place  to  him. 
Some  climbed  upon  the  tables  and  benches  along 
the  walls,  in  order  to  see  better.  And  that  was 
a  dance  worth  seeing.  So  at  least  the  old  men 
thought,  for  louder  grew  their  shouts  at  every 
daring  leap ;  and  so  the  girls  thought  too,  for 
there  was  hardly  one  of  them  who  did  not  wish 
herself  in  the  happy  Ragnhild's  place. 

After  the  music  had  ceased,  it  was  some  time 
before  Ragnhild  fully  recovered  her  senses;  she 
still  clung  fast  to  Gunnar's  arm,  the  floor  seemed 
to  be  heaving  and  sinking  under  her,  and  the 
space  was  filled  with  a  vague,  distant  hum. 
"  Come,  let  us  go  out,"  said  he ;  "  the  fresh  night- 
air  will  do  you  good."  The  night  was  clear  as 
the  day,  the  moon  and  the  stars  glittered  over 
the  wide  fields  of  snow,  and  the  aurora  borealis 
flashed  in  endless  variations.  A  cold  rush  of 
air  struck  against  them,  and  with  every  breath 
he  inhaled  new  strength  and  courage.  Still  the 


THE  SKEE-RACE.  155 

whirling  bliss  of  the  dance  throbbed  in  his  veins, 
and  he  felt  as  if  lifted  above  himself.  And 
Ragnhild  it  was  who  walked  there  at  his  side, 
—  Ragnhild  herself,  fairer  than  thought  or  dream 
conld  paint  her.  It  was  Ragnhild's  hand  he  held 
so  close  in  his.  And  was  it  not  she  who  had  been 
the  hope,  the  life,  and  the  soul  of  these  many 
aimless  years?  When  he  spoke,  how  he  spoke, 
he  knew  not,  but  speak  he  did. 

"  Ragnhild,"  said  he,  warmly,  "  you  know  — 
that  —  Ragnhild,  you  know  I  always  liked  you 
very  much."  She  let  her  eyes  fall,  blushed,  but 
made  no  answer.  "  Ragnhild,  you  know  that  I 
always  —  always  —  loved  you.  Do  you  not, 
Ragnhild]" 

"  Yes,  Gunnar,  I  do  know  it." 

"  Then,  Ragnhild,  tell  me  only  that  you  love 
me  too.  There  is  nothing,  no,  I  am  sure  there 
can  be  nothing  in  all  the  world,  which  I  could 
not  do,  if  I  only  knew  that  you  loved  me.  Then 
all  those  pictures  which  I  feel  within  me  would 
come  out  into  light :  for  they  all  came  from  you. 
Ragnhild,  say  that  you  love  me." 


156  GVNNAR. 


"Gunnar,  you  have  been  dear  to  me  —  ever 
—  ever — since  I  can  remember,"  whispered  she, 
hardly  audibly,  and  struggling  with  her  tears. 
There  lay  a  world  of  light  before  him. 

Not.  far  from  the  court-hall,  down  toward  the 
fjord,  stood  two  huge  fir-trees.  They  both  had 
tall,  naked  trunks,  and  thick,  bushy  heads,  and 
they  looked  so  much  alike  that  people  called 
them  the  twin  furs.  It  was  the  saying,  also, 
that  lovers  often  met  there.  Between  the  trees 
was  nailed  a  rough  piece  of  plank  to  sit  on. 
Here  they  stopped  and  sat  down.  He  laid  his 
arm  round  her  waist,  and  drew  her  close  up  to 
him ;  she  leaned  her  head  on  his  breast.  Then 
he  turned  his  eyes  upward  to  the  dark  crowns 
of  the  trees,  and  seemed  lost  in  a  stream  of 
thought.  The  moonlight  only  shimmered  through, 
for  the  foliage  was  very  thick.  Neither  spoke ; 
they  felt  no  need  of  words.  Silence  is  the  tru- 
est language  of  bliss.  And  she  also  looked  up 
into  the  heavy,  moon-fretted  mass  overhead, 
wondering  what  his  thoughts  might  be. 

"  What   a   queer   shape   that   tree   has ! "    ex- 


THE  SKEE-RACE.  157 

claimed  she ;  "  it  looks  like  a  huge  Trold  with 
three  heads." 

Then  a  light  flashed  upon  him,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment his  whole  past  life  lay  before  him,  from 
the  days  of  the  saddle  "  Fox,"  and  his  grand- 
mother's stories,  to  this  night.  "0  Ragnhild," 
said  he,  looking  longingly  into  her  dewy  eyes, 
"  at  last  I  have  found  my  beautiful  princess ! " 
And  that  thought  made  him  suddenly  so  glad 
that  before  he  knew  it  he  kissed  her.  For  a 
moment  she  looked  startled,  almost  frightened ; 
but  as  her  eyes  again  rested  in  his  her  face 
brightened  into  a  happy,  trustful  smile.  Now 
their  thoughts  and  their  words  wandered  to  the 
past  and  to  the  future. 

It  was  a  happy,  happy  hour. 

Gudrun  had  hardly  been  a  minute  off  the 
floor,  from  the  time  she  came  inside  the  door. 
Thus  it  was  some  time  before  she  was  aware 
of  Ragnhild's  absence.  But  when  there  came  a 
pause  in  the  dance,  and  the  time  had  arrived 
for  the  stev,  she  searched  all  over  the  house  for 
her  cousin,  but  without  success.  Soon  she  dis- 


158  GUNNAR. 


covered  that  Gunnar  also  was  gone ;  for  every- 
body was  asking  for  him.  He  was  wanted  to 
open  the  stev,  as  he  had  a  fine  voice,  and  a 
good  head  for  rhyming.  Then,  seized  with  fear- 
ful apprehensions,  she  rushed  out  of  the  hall, 
and  down  the  road,  toward  the  fjord.  She  would 
probably  have  taken  no  notice  of  the  twin  firs, 
if  Ragnhild  had  not  seen  her  and  called  her. 

"Why,  Ragnhild,"  cried  Gudrun,  breathless 
with  fear  and  running,  "how  you  have  fright- 
ened me !  I  could  not  imagine  what  had  be- 
come of  you.  Everybody  is  asking  for  you. 
They  want  Gunnar  to  open  the  stev." 

They  all  hurried  back  to  the  hall.  Gudrun 
might  well  wish  to  ask  questions,  but  she  dared 
not ;  for  she  felt  the  truth,  but  was  afraid  of 
it.  They  could  not  help  seeing,  when  they  en- 
tered the  hall,  that  many  curious  glances  were 
directed  toward  them.  But  this  rather  roused 
in  both  a  spirit  of  defiance.  Therefore,  when 
Gunnar  was  requested  to  begin  the  stev,  he 
chose  Ragnhild  for  his  partner,  and  she  ac- 
cepted. True,  he  was  a  houseman's  son,  but 


THE  SKEE-RACE.  159 

he  was  not  afraid.  There  was  a  giggling  and 
a  whispering  all  round,  as  hand  in  hand  they 
stepped  out  on  the  floor.  Young  and  old,  lads 
and  maidens,  thronged  eagerly  about  them. 
Had  she  not  been  so  happy,  perhaps  she  would 
not  have  been  so  fair.  But  as  she  stood  there, 
in  the  warm  flush  of  the  torch-light,  with  her 
rich,  blond  hair  waving  down  over  her  shoul- 
ders, and  with  that  veiled  brightness  in  her  eyes, 
her  beauty  sprang  upon  you  like  a  sudden  won- 
der, and  her  presence  was  inspiration.  And 
Gunnar  saw  her ;  she  loved  him :  what  cared 
he  for  all  the  world  beside  1  Proudly  he  raised 
his  head  and  sang  :  — 

Gunnar.  There  standeth  a  birch  in  the  lightsome  lea, 

Ragnhild.  In  the  lightsome  lea  ; 

Gunnar.  So  fair  she  stands  in  the  sunlight  free, 

Ragnhild.  In  the  sunlight  free  ; 

Both.  So  fair  she  stands  in  the  sunlight  free. 

Ragnhild.  High  up  on  the  mountain  there  standeth  a  pine, 

Gunnar.  There  standeth  a  pine  ; 

Ragnhild.  So  stanchly  grown  and  so  tall  and  fine,  — 

Gunnar.  So  tall  and  fine  ; 

Both.  So  stanchly  grown  and  so  tall  and  fine. 


160  GUNNAR. 


Gunnar.  A  maiden  I  know  as  fair  as  the  day, 

Ragnhild.  As  fair  as  the  day  ; 

Gunnar.  She  shines  like  the  birch  in  the  sunlight's  play, 

Ragnhild.  In  the  sunlight's  play  ; 

Both.  She  shines  like  the  birch  in  the  sunlight's  play. 

Ragnhild.  I  know  a  lad  in  the  spring's  glad  light, 

Gunnar.  In  the  spring's  glad  light ; 

Ragnhild.  Far-seen  as  the  pine  on  the  mountain-height, 

Gunnar.  On  the  mountain-height ; 

Both.  Far-seen  as  the  pine  on  the  mountain-height. 

Gunnar.  So  bright  and  blue  are  the  starry  skies, 

Ragnhild.  The  starry  skies  ; 

Gunnar.  But  brighter  and  bluer  that  maiden's  eyes, 

Ragnhild.  That  maiden's  eyes  ; 

Both.  But  brighter  and  bluer  that  maiden's  eyes. 

Ragnhild.  And  his  have  a  depth  like  the  fjord,  I  know, 

Gunnar.  The  fjord,  I  know  ; 

Ragnhild.  Wherein  the  heavens  their  beauty  show, 

Gunnar.  Their  beauty  show  ; 

Both.  Wherein  the  heavens  their  beauty  show. 

Gunnar.  The  birds  each  morn  seek  the  forest-glade, 

Ragnhild.  The  forest-glade  ; 

Gunnar.  So  flock  my  thoughts  to  that  lily  maid, 

Ragnhild.  That  lily  maid  ; 

Both.  So  flock  my  thoughts  to  that  lily  maid. 


THE  SKEE-RACE.  161 

Ragnhild.   The  moss  it  clingeth  so  fast  to  the  stone, 

{jfunnar.      So  fast  to  the  stone  ; 

Ragnhild.   So  clingeth  my  soul  to  him  alone, 

Gunnar.      To  him  alone  ; 

Both.  So  cliugeth  my  soul  to  him  alone. 

Gunnar.  Each  brook  sings  its  song,  but  forever  the  same, 

Ragnhild.  Forever  the  same  ; 

Gunnar.  Forever  my  heart  beats  that  maiden's  name, 

Ragnhild.  That  maiden's  name  ; 

Both.  Forever  my  heart  beats  that  maiden's  name. 

Ragnhild.  The  plover  hath  but  an  only  tone, 

Gunnar.  An  only  tone  ; 

Ragnhild.  My  life  hath  its  love,  and  its  love  alone, 

Gunnar.  Its  love  alone  ; 

Both.  My  life  hath  its  love,  and  its  love  alone. 

Gunnar.  The  rivers  all  to  the  fjord  they  go, 

Ragnhild.  To  the  fjord  they  go  ; 

Gunnar.  So  may  our  lives  then  together  flow, 

Ragnhild.  Together  flow  ; 

Both.  0,  may  our  lives  then  together  flow  ! 

Here  Gunnar  stopped,  made  a  leap  toward 
Kagnhild,  caught  her  round  the  waist,  and  again 
danced  off  with  her,  while  a  storm  of  voices  joined 
in  the  last  refrain,  and  loud  shouts  of  admiration 

K 


162  GUNNAR. 


followed  them.  For  this  was  a  stev  that  was 
•good  for  something ;  long  time  it  was  since  so  fine 
a  stev  had  been  heard  on  this  side  the  mountains. 
Soon  the  dance  became  general,  and  lasted  till 
after  midnight.  Then  the  sleigh-bells  and  the 
stamping  of  hoofs  from  without  reminded  the 
merry  guests  that  night  was  waning.  There  stood 
the  well-known  swan-shaped  sleigh  from  Henjum, 
and  the  man  on  the  box  was  Atle  himself.  Ragn- 
hild  and  Gudrun  were  hurried  into  it,  the  whip 
cracked,  and  the  sleigh  shot  down  over  the  star- 
illumined  fields  of  snow. 

The  splendor  of  the  night  was  almost  dazzling  as 
Gunnar  came  out  from  the  crowded  hall  and  again 
stood  under  the  open  sky.  A  host  of  struggling 
thoughts  and  sensations  thronged  upon  him.  He 
was  happy,  0,  so  happy !  at  least,  he  tried  to  per- 
suade himself  that  he  was,  but,  strange  to  say,  he 
did  not  fully  succeed.  Was  it  not  toward  this 
day  his  yearnings  had  pointed,  and  about  which 
his  hopes  had  been  clustering  from  year  to  year, 
ever  since  he  had  been  old  enough  to  know  what 
yearning  was?  Was  it  not  this  day  which  had 


THE  SKEE-BA  CE.  163 

been  beckoning  him  from  afar,  and  had  shed  light 
upon  his  way  like  a  star,  and  had  he  not  followed 
its  guidance  as  faithfully  and  as  trustingly  as 
those  wise  men  of  old  ?  "  Folly  and  nonsense," 
muttered  he,  "  the  night  breeds  nightly  thoughts  !  " 
With  an  effort  he  again  brought  Ragnhild's  image 
before  his  mind,  jumped  upon  his  skees,  and  dart- 
ed down  over  the  glittering  snow.  It  bore  him 
toward  the  fjord.  A  sharp,  chill  wind  swept  up 
the  hillside,  and  rushed  against  him.  "  House- 
man's son,"  cried  the  wind.  Onward  he  hastened. 
"  Houseman's  son,"  howled  the  wind  after  him. 
Soon  he  reached  the  fjord,  hurried  on  up  toward 
the  river-mouth,  and,  coming  to  the  Henjum  boat- 
house,  stopped,  and  walked  out  to  the  end  of  the 
pier,  which  stretched  from  the  headland  some 
twenty  to  thirty  feet  out  into  the  water.  The 
fjord  lay  sombre  and  restless  before  him.  There 
was  evidently  a  storm  raging  in  the  ocean,  for  the 
tide  was  unusually  high,  and  the  sky  was  darken- 
ing from  the  west  eastward.  The  mountain-peaks 
stood  there,  stern  and  lofty  as  ever,  with  their 
heads  wrapped  in  hoods  of  cloud.  Gunnar  sat 


164  GUNNAR. 


down  at  the  outer  edge  of  the  pier,  with  his  feet 
hanging  listlessly  over  the  water,  which,  in  slow 
and  monotonous  plashing,  beat  against  the  tim- 
bers. Far  out  in  the  distance  he  could  hear  the 
breakers  roar  among  the  rocky  reefs ;  first,  the 
long,  booming  roll,  then  the  slowly  waning  moan, 
and  the  great  hush,  in  which  the  billows  pause  to 
listen  to  themselves.  It  is  the  heavy,  deep-drawn 
breath  of  the  ocean.  It  was  cold,  but  Guunar 
hardly  felt  it. 

He  again  stepped  into  his  skees  and  followed 
the  narrow  road,  as  it  wound  its  way  from  the 
fjord  up  along  the  river.  Down  near  the  mouth, 
between  Henjum  and  Rimul,  the  river  was  frozen, 
and  could  be  crossed  on  the  ice.  Up  at  Henjum- 
hei  it  was  too  swift  to  freeze.  It  was  near  daylight 
when  he  reached  the  cottage.  How  small  and 
poor  it  looked  !  Never  had  he  seen  it  so  before ; 
—  very  different  from  Rimul.  And  how  dark 
and  narrow  it  was  all  around  it !  At  Rimul  they 
had  always  sunshine.  Truly,  the  track  is  steep 
from  Henjumhei  to  Rimul ;  the  river  runs  deep 
between. 


X. 


PARISH   GOSSIP. 

[FTER  the  skee-race,  all  the  valley  was 
talking  about  Gunnar  Henjumhei  and 
Ragnhild  Rimul.  Some  people,  who 
believed  themselves  well  informed,  knew  for  cer- 
tain that  there  must  be  something  between  them, 
for  it  was  evident  enough  whom  they  both  al- 
luded to  in  their  stev;  and  even  if  that  meant 
nothing,  no  one  could  help  noticing  that  they 
sought  each  other's  company  more  than  was  prop- 
er for  persons  so  wide  apart  in  birth  and  external 
circumstances.  Others,  again,  thought  the  idea 
too  preposterous,  and  supposed  that,  at  least 
on  Ragnhild's  part,  the  fondness  amounted  to 
nothing  more  .than  a  common  friendship,  which, 
however,  might  be  bad  enough  ;  for  all  agreed 
that  it  was  an  unpardonable  boldness  in  a  low- 


166  GUNNAR. 


born  houseman's  son  to  cast  his  eyes  upon  a 
maiden  who  was  worth  at  least  her  own  weight  in 
gold.  At  last  the  parish  talk  reached  Atle  Hen- 
jum's  ear,  and  through  him  the  widow  of  Rimul. 

It  was  a  Sunday  forenoon.  On  the  hearth 
in  the  large,  well-lighted  sitting-room  at  Rimul 
burned  a  lively  wood-fire.  The  floor  was  strewn 
with  new  juniper,  spreading  a  fresh  smell  of  clean- 
liness throughout  the  room.  The  snow  was  too 
deep  for  women  on  the  church-road  that  morning; 
therefore  Ingeborg  Rimul  had  the  old  silver- 
clasped  family  Bible,  where  births,  marriages,  and 
deaths  had  been  faithfully  recorded  for  many 
generations,  lying  open  on  the  table  before  her. 
Her  eyes  fell  upon  the  gospel  for  the  day ;  read- 
ing that,  she  thought  she  might  at  least  have 
some  idea  of  what  the  text  of  the  sermon  would 
be.  She  was  following  down  the  page  with  her 
finger  while  reading.  And  still  it  was  hardly  the 
gospel  which  was  foremost  in  her  mind  to-day ; 
for,  whenever  unobserved,  her  eyes  wandered  from 
the  book  to  her  daughter,  who  was  sitting  at  the 
window,  fair  and  Sunday  clad,  with  her  head 


PARISH  GOSSIP.  167 

resting  upon  her  hand,  while  with  an  absent  look 
she  gazed  at  the  starry  figures  of  the  ice  on  the 
frozen  window.  There  was  no  one  who  did  not 
think  Ragnhild  beautiful.  She  was  one  of  those 
who  unconsciously  draw  all  hearts  to  them.  Peo- 
ple said  she  most  resembled  her  father's  family. 
It  was  from  him  she  had  that  gentleness  of 
bearing  and  those  blessed  blue  eyes,  whose  purity 
and  depth  bore  in  them  a  suggestion  of  the  in- 
finite ;  but  the  clear  forehead,  the  strong  chin, 
and  that  truly  Northern  luxuriance  of  blond  hair 
were  inheritances  from  the  mother.  A  sad,  almost 
painful  expression  passed  over  Ingeborg's  face,  as 
she  sat  silently  watching  her,  —  an  expression 
which  had  long  been  strange  to  her  features ;  but 
it  was  only  momentary,  and  was  soon  exchanged 
for  her  wonted  mien  of  undisturbed  calmness  and 
decision. 

Heavy  steps  were  heard  in  the  outer  hall,  and 
the  noise  of  some  one  stamping  the  snow  from  his 
feet.  Both  the  women  raised  their  eyes  as  the 
door  opened  and  Atle  Henjum  stepped  in.  He 
went  up  to  Ingeborg  and  shook  hands;  then  he 
came  to  Ragnhild. 


168  GUNNAR. 


"  Thanks  for  last  meeting,"  said  he. 

"  Thanks  yourself,"  said  they. 

He  took  a  seat  on  a  bench  next  to  his  sister. 
"  Bad  weather  for  lumbering,"  remarked  he.  "  I 
have  two  hundred  dozen  logs  ready  for  floating, 
but  shall  probably  have  to  wait  until  spring  be- 
fore getting  them  down,  if  it  keeps  on  snowing 
at  this  rate." 

"  We  are  hardly  better  off  than  you,  brother," 
answered  the  widow.  "  I  am  afraid  we  shall  have 
to  burn  our  fences  for  wood,  if  next  week  does  not 
bring  a  change  in  the  weather." 

"  Little  need  is  there  of  such  a  waste,  Ingeborg, 
as  long  as  there  is  only  the  river  between  Henjum 
and  Rimul." 

"  Many  thanks  for  your  offer,  but  it  never  was 
my  way  to  borrow.  I  don't  like  to  feel  that  I 
need  anybody,  not  even  my  own  brother." 

For  some  time  they  all  sat  in  silence,  with  their 
eyes  fixed  on  the  floor,  as  if  lost  in  contemplation 
of  the  knots  in  the  planks  of  the  floor  or  the  acci- 
dental shapes  of  the  juniper-needles.  Then  at 
last  Atle  spoke.  "Well,"  began  he  slowly  and 


PARISH  GOSSIP.  169 

with  emphasis,  "  that  day  is  probably  not  far  off 
when  there  shall  be  no  river  to  separate  Henjum 
from  Rimul."  He  looked  toward  Ragnhild  as  he 
said  this ;  and  although  her  face  was  turned  away 
from  him,  she  felt  that  his  eyes  rested  on  her. 
She  quickly  rose  and  left  the  room.  "  This  was 
what  I  came  to  speak  to  you  about,  Ingeborg," 
continued  Atle ;  "  you  know  it  has  long  been  a 
settled  thing  between  us  that  Henjum  and  Rimul 
should  some  day  be  one  estate,  and  the  way  to 
bring  this  about  you  also  know.  Now  Lars  is  a 
stout,  well-grown  lad,  and  Ragnhild  is  no  longer  a 
child  either.  So,  if  you  are  willing,  I  do  not  see 
any  reason  why  we  should  not  make  the  wedding, 
and  the  sooner  the  better.  No  one  knows  how 
many  his  days  will  be,  and  it  surely  would  be  a 
comfort  to  both  of  us  to  see  them  together  before 
we  take  our  leave." 

"  Atle,"  said  the  widow  of  Rimul,  "  you  have 
my  word,  and  I  thought  you  knew  your  sister 
well  enough  to  feel  assured  that  her  word  is  as 
good  as  gold.  I  can  see  no  reason  for  hurrying 
the  wedding.  We  are  both  folk  in  our  best  age, 
8 


170  GUNNAR. 


and  strong  as  rocks,  so  there  is  but  little  proba- 
bility of  our  dying  for  many  years  to  come  ;  and 
even  if  one  of  us  should  be  called  away,'  there 
would  still  be  one  left  to  execute  the  other's 
will.'' 

Atle  found  this  reasonable,  but  still  he  had 
other  motives  for  wishing  a  speedy  marriage; 
and  since  his  sister  compelled  him  to  speak 
what  he  would  rather  not  have  told  her,  he 
would  no  longer  keep  from  her  the  rumors  which 
were  circulating  in  the  valley,  and  had  found 
their  way  to  his  ear.  He  was  of  course  aware 
that  they  had  no  foundation  whatever,  for  tact 
and  self-respect  had  always  been  innate  virtues 
in  their  family;  but  still  the  girl  was  young, 
and  a  mother's  advice  might  teach  her  to  avoid 
even  the  appearances  which  could  give  occasion 
for  such  .foolish  gossip.  He  also  told  her  that 
Lars,  since  his  sudden  disappearance  at  the  skee- 
race,  had  hardly  seemed  the  same  person.  Late 
the  next  morning,  when  he  returned,  he  had  re- 
fused to  give  any  account  of  himself,  and  ever 
since  he  had  had  a  strange,  bewildered  look 


PARISH  GOSSIP.  171 

about  him.  If  Atle  had  believed  in  trolds  and 
elf-maids,  he  should  surely  have  supposed  that 
Lars  must  have  seen  something  of  the  kind  on 
his  night  walk  in  the  forest.  Ingeborg  exhorted 
her  brother  to  be  at  ease ;  she  should  have  no 
difficulty  in  bringing  the  affair  to  the  desired 
result,  if  he  only  would  give  her  time ;  for  the 
first  year  there  could  at  least  be  no  question 
of  marriage.  The  stern,  calm  assurance  in  Inge- 
borg's  words  and  manner  removed  Atle's  fears ; 
he  had  no  doubt  her  plan  was  the  better,  —  a 
concession  which  he  never  made  to  any  one  but 
her.  With  regard  to  Gunnar,  they  both  agreed 
that  he  must  have  forgotten  who  he  was,  and 
that  it  was  their  duty  to  give  him  a  reminder, 
before  his  conceit  should  run  away  with  him. 

It  was  nearly  four  weeks  after  the  skee-race, 
and  in  all  this  time  Gunnar  and  Ragnhild  had 
hardly  seen  each  other.  The  only  place  where 
they  met  was  at  church,  and  there  they  had  to 
keep  as  far  away  from  each  other  as  possible ; 
for  they  both  knew  that  the  valley  was  full  of 
rumors  which,  if  they  came  to  Ingeborg  Rimul, 


172  GUNNAR. 


would  cause  them  infinite  trouble,  and  possibly 
crush  their  hopes  forever.  Thus  weeks  went, 
and  months,  and  neither  of  them  was  happy. 
Wherever  Gunnar  went,  people  would  stick  their 
heads  together  and  whisper;  the  young  girls 
giggled  when  they  saw  him,  and  among  the 
men  there  would  fall  many  a  cutting  word.  He 
soon  understood,  too,  that  it  was  not  by  mere 
accident  that  he  overheard  them.  This,  how- 
ever, instead  of  weakening  his  courage,  gave  it 
new  growth ;  but  it  was  not  the  healthy  growth 
fostered  by  a  manly  trust  in  his  own  strength. 
He  was  well  aware  that  people  did  not  speak 
to  him  as  they  spoke  about  him.  Since  he  had 
grown  up  he  had  never  been  much  liked,  as  he 
had  always  been  what  they  called  odd,  which 
meant  that  he  was  not  quite  like  all  others ; 
and  in  small  communities  there  can  be  no  crime 
greater  than  oddity.  Kagnhild  Rimul  was  the 
best  match  within  four  parishes  round,  and  when 
any  one  so  far  below  her  in  birth  cast  his  eyes 
upon  her,  he  must  naturally  rouse  the  jealousy 
at  least  of  those  who  miorht  have  similar  inten- 


PARISH  GOSSIP.  173 


tions.  But  these  were  not  the  only  ones  who 
felt  hostile  to  Gunnar.  Few  were  readier  to 
denounce  him  than  those  of  his  own  class,  who 
had  no  lofty  aspirations  to  lead  them  away  from 
the  beaten  track  of  their  fathers. 

Then  it  happened  that  one  afternoon  he  sat 
dreaming  over  a  plot  for  a  new  composition.  It 
was  to  be  the  scene  from  King  Olaf  Trygveson's 
Saga,  where  the  king  wakes  on  his  bridal  night 
and  sees  the  shining  dagger  in  the  hand  of  Gu- 
drun,  his  bride. 

"  '  What  is  that,'  King  Olaf  said, 
'  Gleams  so  bright  above  thy  head  ? 
Wherefore  standest  thou  so  white 
In  pale  moonlight  ? ' 

" '  T  is  the  bodkin  that  I  wear, 
When  at  night  I  bind  my  hair; 
It  woke  me  falling  on  the  floor : 
'T  is  nothing  more.' "  * 

Olaf,  the  bold,  youthful  king,  who  had  roamed 
eastward  and  westward  on  his  Viking  voyages, 

*  Vide  Longfellow's  Saga  of  King  Olaf,  in  Tales  of  a  Way- 
side Inn. 


174  GUNNAR. 


and  had  come  home  to  preach  the  gospel  with 
his  sword,  had  always  been  a  favorite  with  Gun- 
uar,  and  this  was  not  the  first  incident  of  the 
hero's  life  which  had  tempted  his  artistic  fancy. 
But,  strange  to  say,  to-day  the  noble  sea-king 
seemed  but  a  commonplace,  uncouth  barbarian, 
and  Gudrun,  Ironbeard's  fair  daughter,  a  stiff, 
theatrical  figure,  in  which  there  was  neither 
grace,  nor  life,  nor  heroism.  However  much  he 
turned  and  twisted  her,  she  still  retained  a  pro- 
voking mien  of  awkward  consciousness,  as  if  she 
were  standing  up  for  the  special  purpose  of  hav- 
ing her  picture  taken.  In  vain  he  tried  to  bring 
unity  and  harmony  into  the  composition.  An 
hour  passed,  and  struggling  through  the  chaotic 
shadows  dawned  slowly  but  surely  a  clearer  and 
better  day.  It  had  been  long  coming,  but  now 
it  stood  cloudless  and  clear  in  its  own  light ; 
and  Gunnar  passed  from  thought  into  resolution, 
from  resolution  into  action.  Strange  that  he 
had  not  seen  it  long  ago  !  He  sprang  up,  seized 
his  cap,  and  rushed  out.  The  day  was  dim  and 
foggy.  He  reached  the  river,  unmoored  a  boat, 


PARISH  GOSSIP.  175 

and  slowly  worked  his  way  between  the  large 
blocks  of  floating  ice,  till  he  touched  the  Rimul 
shore.  Upon  the  hillside,  under  the  leafless  for- 
est, lay  the  mansion  wrapped  in  fog.  As  he 
came  nearer  he  could  see  the  windows  glittering 
through  the  fog,  but,  as  it  were,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  warning,  not  the  bright  smile  with 
which  they  were  accustomed  to  greet  him  in 
those  happy  days  when,  as  a  boy,  he  brought 
his  sketches  to  little  Ragnhild,  and  from  her 
childlike  delight  drank  strength  and  courage  for 
coming  days.  These  memories  now  again  urged 
themselves  upon  him,  and  even  for  a  moment 
made  him  waver  in  his  determination ;  but,  as 
if  fleeing  from  his  doubts,  he  hurried  onward, 
and  at  length  left  them  behind.  Truly  it  was 
time  that  he  should  begin  to  act  like  a  man. 
Ragnhild  loved  him,  loved  him  as  only  Ragnhild 
could  love  ;  but,  hard  as  the  thought  might  be, 
it  was  not  to  be  denied  that  she  was  ashamed 
to  own  him  before  men.  And  could  he  wonder? 
Had  he  ever  done  anything  to  prove  to  the 
world  that  he  was  entitled  to  its  respect?  And 


176  GUNNAR. 


still  what  a  power  he  felt  within  him !  He  was 
not  the  man  who  would  have  a  woman  stoop 
to  own  him,  who  would  see  her  blush  at  her 
love  for  him.  All  this  would  he  tell  Ragnhild 
this  day,  tell  her  that  she  was  no  longer  bound 
by  any  promise  to  him,  that  he  was  now  going 
far  away,  where  she  should  hear  of  him  no  more 
until  he  had  lived  to  be  something  great.  Then, 
perhaps,  some  time  in  the  far  future,  when  he 
should  have  compelled  the  world  to  know  him 
and  to  honor  him,  he  would  return  to  her,  if 
such  should  be  her  wish ;  and  if  not,  he  would 
be  gone  forever. 

These  were  Gunnar's  thoughts,  and  as  he 
passed  through  the  gate  into  the  Rimul  yard, 
he  wondered  again  that  he  had  not  had  the 
courage  to  know  this  and  to  say  it  before  now. 
He  had  hoped  to  meet  Ragnhild  in  the  yard, 
that  he  might  speak  to  her  alone.  This  was 
about  the  time  when  she  was  wont  to  go  to 
the  cow-stables  with  her  milk-pails.  So  he  waited 
for  some  minutes  at  the  gate,  but  not  seeing 
her  he  concluded  that  she  must  already  have 


PARISH  GOSSIP. 


gone,  and  that  he  would  probably  find  her  in 
the  stable.  But  on  his  way  thither  he  met  one 
whom,  to  say  the  least,  he  would  rather  not 
have  met ;  there,  on  the  barn-bridge,*  stood  the 
widow  of  Rimul,  stiff  and  tall,  on  the  very 
same  spot  where  he  had  seen  her  eight  years 
before,  when,  as  a  twelve  years'  old  boy,  he  had 
come  with  his  father  to  take  charge  of  her  cattle. 
If  she  had  been  a  marble  statue,  and  had  been 
standing  there  ever  since,  she  could  hardly  have 
changed  less.  The  same  unshaken  firmness  and 
decision  in  the  lines  about  her  mouth ;  the  same 
erect,  commanding  stature,  the  smooth,  clear  fore- 
head ;  even  the  folds  of  her  white  semicircular 
head-gear  and  the  black  wadmaal  skirt  were  ap- 
parently unchanged  :  and  although  Gunnar  had 
grown  from  a  child  to  a  man  in  those  years,  he 
again  felt  all  his  courage  deserting  him  as  he 
stood  face  to  face  with  the  widow  of  Rimul. 
Indeed,  the  similarity  of  this  occasion  to  the 
one  alluded  to,  for  the  moment  struck  him  so 

*  The  barn-bridge  is  a  bridge  built  from  the  yard  to  the 
second  floor  of  the  barn  biiildings,  whence  the  hay  and  wheat 
are  cast  down  and  stored  in  the  lower  story. 

8*  L 


178  GUNNAR. 


forcibly  that  he  found  it  beyond  his  power  to 
.conquer  that  same  boyish  bashfulness  and  em- 
barrassment which  he  had  experienced  at  their 
first  meeting.  He  had  always  prided  himself 
that  there  was  not  the  man  in  the  parish  of 
whom  he  was  afraid ;  and  yet  here  was  a  woman 
in  whose  presence  he  was  and  ever  must  remain 
a  boy.  This  .consciousness  irritated  him ;  with  a 
vigorous  effort  he  collected  his  scattered  thoughts, 
and  slowly  and  deliberately  drew  nearer.  At 
the  foot  of  the  barn-bridge  he  stopped  and  took 
off  his  cap.  "  Thanks  for  last  meeting,"  said 
he.  The  widow  gave  no  heed  to  what  he  said, 
but  continued  giving  her  directions  to  the  thresh- 
ers who  were  at  work  in  the  barn. 

"  Do  you  call  this  threshing  1 "  said  she,  se- 
verely, picking  up  a  sheaf  of  rye  from  a  large 
pile  which  the  men  had  just  been  clearing  off 
the  floor.  "Do  you  call  this  threshing,  I  say1? 
Only  look  here "  (and  she  shook  the  sheaf  vig- 
orously); "I  would  undertake  to  shake  more 
than  half  a  bushel  of  grain  out  of  this  pile 
which  you  pretend  to  have  threshed.  Mind 


PARISH  GOSSIP.  179 

you,  men  soon  get  their  passports  from  Rimul, 
if  they  work  that  way." 

Gunnar,  supposing  that  he  had  been  unob- 
served, took  the  -last  words  as  a  warning  to 
himself,  and  was  already  taking  his  departure 
when  a  sharp  "  Gunnar  Henjumhei ! "  quickly 
called  him  back. 

"It  is  damp  weather  to-day,"  stammered  he, 
as  he  slowly  drew  nearer.  A  few  steps  from 
her  he  stopped,  pulled  off  his  cap  again,  and 
stood  twirling  it  in  his  hands,  expecting  her  to 


"  Whom  do  you  want  to  see  1 "  asked  she,  hav- 
ing measured  him  with  her  eye  from  head  to 
foot. 

"  Ragnhild,  your  daughter." 

"Ragnhild,  my  daughter,  has  never  yet  been 
so  pressed  for  wooers  that  she  should  have  to 
take  up  with  housemen's  sons.  So  you  will  un- 
derstand, Gunnar  Henjumhei,  that  housemen's 
sons  are  no  longer  welcome  at  Rimul." 

A  quick  pain,  as  if  of  a  sudden  sting,  ran 
through  his  breast.  The  blood  rushed  to  his 


180  GUNNAR. 


face,  and  he  had  a  proud  answer  ready;  but 
as  his  glance  fell  upon  the  stern,  stately  woman 
whom  he  had  always  been  taught  to  look  up  to 
as  a  kind  of  superior  being,  the  words  died 
upon  his  lips. 

"She  is  Ragnhild'i  mother,"  thought  he,  and 
turned  to  go.  He  had  just  gained  the  foot  of 
the  barn-bridge  when  a  loud,  scornful  laughter 
struck  his  ear.  He  stopped  and  looked  back. 
There  stood  Lars  Henjum  in  the  barn-door, 
doubled  up  with  laughter.  This  time  it  was 
hard  to  calm  the  boiling  blood;  and  had  it  not 
been  for  the  presence  of  Raguhild's  mother,  Lars 
might  have  had  occasion  to  regret  that  laughter 
before  nightfall.  So  Gunnar  started  again ;  but  no 
sooner  had  he  turned  his  back  on  Lars  than  the 
laughter  burst  forth  again,  and  grew  louder  and 
wilder  with  the  distance,  until  at  last  it  sounded 
like  a  defiant  scream.  This  was  more  than  he 
could  bear.  He  had  tried  hard  to  master  him- 
self; now  he  knew  not  whither  his  feet  bore  him, 
until  he  stood  face  to  face  with  Lars  and  Ingeborg 
of  Rimul.  He  clinched  his  fist  and  thrust  it 


PARISH  GOSSIP.  181 

close  up  to  the  offender's  face.  Lars  forgot  to 
laugh  then,  turned  pale,  and  sought  refuge  be- 
hind the  widow's  back. 

"  Gunnar,  Gunnar  !  "  cried  she ;  for  even  she 
was  frightened  when  she  met  the  wild  fire  in 
his  eye.  She  was  a  woman;  it  would  be  a 
shame  to  strike  when  a  woman  begged  for 
peace. 

He  sent  Lars  a  fierce  parting  glance.  "You 
and  I  will  meet  again,"  said  he,  and  went. 

The  two  remained  standing  on  the  same  spot, 
half  unconsciously  following  him  with  their  eyes, 
until  the  last  dim  outline  of  his  figure  vanished 
in  the  fog. 

"  Lars,"  said  Ingeborg,  turning  abruptly  on 
her  nephew,  "you  are  a  coward." 

"I  wonder  if  you  would  like  to  fight  with  a 
fellow  like  him,  especially  when  he  was  in  such 
a  rage,"  replied  Lars. 

"  You  are  a  coward,"  repeated  the  widow,  em- 
phatically, as  if  she  would  bear  no  contradiction ; 
and  she  turned  again,  and  left  him  to  his  own 
reflections. 


182  GUNNAR. 


In  April  fog  and  April  sleet  the  days  creep 
slowly.  Every  day  Gunnar  looked  longingly 
toward  the  mountains,  wondering  how  that  great 
world  might  be  on  the  other  side.  Every  morn- 
ing awoke  him  with  new  resolutions  and  plans; 
every  evening  closed  over  a  tale  of  withering 
courage  and  fading  hopes;  and  only  night  brought 
him  rest  and  consolation,  when  she  let  her  dream- 
painted  curtain  fall  over  his  slumber,  like  a  mi- 
rage over  the  parched  desert. 


XL 
THE  WEDDING  OF  THE  WILD-DUCK. 

I  ERG  was  the  name  of  a  fine  farm  the 
next  west  of  Rimul.  Peer  was  the 
name  of  the  man  who  owned  the  farm. 
But  the  church  and  the  friendly  little  parsonage 
were  on  the  Henjum  side  of  the  river,  and  in 
the  summer,  therefore,  the  fjord  was  the  church- 
road  of  the  Rimul  people  and  all  who  lived  on 
their  side  of  the  water.  This  Peer  Berg  was 
a  very  jovial  man,  and  had  a  great  many  daugh- 
ters, who,  as  he  was  wont  to  say  himself,  were 
the  only  crop  he  had  ever  succeeded  in  raising ; 
in  fact,  there  were  more  daughters  on  Berg  than 
were  needed  to  do  the  work  about  the  place, 
and  it  was,  therefore,  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  Peer  Berg  never  frowned  on  a  wooer;  the 
saying  was,  too,  that  both  he  and  his  wife  had 


184  GUNNAR 


quite  a  faculty  for  alluring  that  kind  of  folks 
to  the  house.  Gunnar  knew  the  Berg  daughters  ; 
for  wherever  there  was  dancing  and  merry-mak- 
ing, they  were  as  sure  to  be  as  the  fiddlers.  As 
far  back  as  he  could  remember,  the  church-road 
had  never  missed  the  "  Wild-Ducks  "  from  Berg, 
as  they  were  generally  called,  because  they  all 
were  dressed  alike,  were  all  fair  and  gay,  and 
where  one  went  all  the  rest  would  invariably 
follow.  Now  one  of  the  Wild-Ducks  was  to 
be  married  to  a  rich  old  bachelor  from  the  neigh- 
boring valley,  and  people  knew  that  Peer  Berg 
intended  to  make  a  wedding  the  fame  of  which 
should  echo  through  seven  parishes  round.  Sum- 
mons for  the  wedding  were  sent  out  far  and  wide, 
and  to  Gunnar  with  the  rest. 

It  was  early  in  the  morning  when  bride  and 
bridegroom  from  Berg  with  their  nearest  kinsfolk 
cleared  their  boats,  and  set  out  for  the  church ; 
on  the  way  one  boat  of  wedding-guests  after 
another  joined  them,  and  by  the  time  they 
reached  the  landing-place  in  the  "Parsonage 
Bay"  their  party  counted  quite  a  goodly  num- 


THE   WEDDING    OF   THE    WILD-DUCK.      185 

ber.  The  air  was  fresh  and  singularly  trans- 
parent, and  the  fjord,  partaking  of  the  all-per- 
vading air-tone,  glittered  in  changing  tints  of 
pale  blue  and  a  cool,  delicate  green.  Now  and 
then  a  faint  tremor  would  skim  along  its  mirror, 
like  the  quiver  of  a  slight  but  delightful  emo- 
tion. Toward  the  north,  the  mountains  rose 
abruptly  from  the  water,  and  with  their  snow- 
hooded  heads  loomed  up  into  fantastic  heights; 
irregular  drifts  of  light,  fog-like  cloud  hung  or 
hovered  about  the  lower  crags.  Westward  the 
fjord  described  a  wide  curve,  bounded  by  a  lower 
plateau,  which  gradually  ascended  through  the 
usual  pine  and  birch  regions  into  the  eternal 
snow-fields  of  immeasurable  dimensions  ;  and 
through  the  clefts  of  the  nearest  peaks  the  view 
was  opened  into  a  mountain  panorama  of  inde- 
scribable grandeur.  There  gigantic  yokuls  meas- 
ured their  strength  with  the  heavens ;  wild  gla- 
ciers shot  their  icy  arms  downwards,  clutching 
the  landscape  in  their  cold  embrace  ;  and  rapid, 
snow-fed  rivers  darted  down  between  the  preci- 
pices where  only  a  misty  spray,  hovering  over 
the  chasm,  traced  their  way  toward  the  fjord. 


186  GUNNAR. 


About  half-way  between  the  church  and  the 
mouth  of  the  river  a  headland,  overgrown  with 
birch  and  pine  forest,  ran  far  out  into  the  fjord. 
Here  the  first  four  boats  of  the  bridal  party 
stopped  on  their  homeward  way  to  wait  for 
those  which  had  been  left  behind ;  in  one  sat  the 
bride  herself,  with  breastplate  and  silver  crown 
on  her  head,  and  at  her  side  the  bridegroom 
shining  in  his  best  holiday  trim,  with  rows  of 
silver  buttons  and  buckles,  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  the  valley ;  in  his  hand  he  held  an  ancient 
war-axe.  On  the  bench  in  front  of  them  Peer 
Berg  and  his  merry  wife  had  their  places;  and 
next  to  them,  again,  two  of  the  bridegroom's 
nearest  kin.  The  second  boat  contained  the  re- 
maining Wild-Ducks  and  other  relatives  and  con- 
nections; and  the  third  and  fourth,  wedding- 
guests  and  musicians.  But  there  were  at  least 
nine  or  ten  loads  missing  yet ;  for  the  wedding 
at  Berg  was  to  be  no  ordinary  one.  In  the  mean 
time  old  Peer  proposed  to  taste  the  wedding 
brewage,  and  bade  the  musicians  to  strike  up 
so  merry  a  tune  that  it  should  sing  through 


THE  WEDDING   OF   THE   WILD-DUCK.     187 

the  bone  and  the  marrow.  "  For  fiddles,  like 
hops,  give  strength  to  the  beer,"  said  he,  "and 
then  people  from  afar  will  hear  that  the  bridal 
boats  are  coming."  And  swinging  above  his  head 
a  jug  filled  to  the  brim  with  strong  home-brewed. 
Hardanger-beer,  he  pledged  the  company,  and 
quaffed  the  liquor  to  the  last  drop.  "  So  did 
our  old  forefathers  drink,"  cried  he;  "the  horn 
might  stand  on  either  end  if  their  lips  had  once 
touched  it.  And  may  it  be  said  from  this  day, 
that  the  wedding-guests  at  Berg  proved  that  they 
had  the  true  old  Norse  blood  in  their  veins/' 
A  turbulent  applause  followed  this  speech  of 
Peer's,  and  amid  music,  singing,  and  laughter 
the  beer-jugs  passed  from  boat  to  boat  and 
from  hand  to  hand.  Now  and  then  a  long, 
yoddling  halloo  came  floating  through  the  calm 
air,  followed  by  a  clear,  manifold  echo;  and  no 
sooner  had  the  stillness  closed  over  it  than  the 
merry  voices  from  the  boats  again  rose  in 
louder  and  noisier  chorus.  All  this  time  the 
bridal  fleet  was  rapidly  increasing,  and  for  ev- 
ery fresh  arrival  the  beer-jugs  made  another 


188  GUNNAR. 


complete  round.  No  one  drank  without  find- 
ing something  or  other  to  admire,  whether  it 
were  the  liquor  itself  or  the  skilfully  carved  silver 
jugs  in  which,  as  every  one  knew,  Peer  Berg  took 
no  little  pride  ;  indeed,  they  had  been  an  heir- 
loom in  the  family  from  immemorial  times,  and 
the  saying  was  that  even  kings  had  drunk  from 
them.  There  were  now  eighteen  or  nineteen 
boats  assembled  about  the  point  of  the  head- 
land, and  the  twentieth  and  last  was  just  draw- 
ing up  its  oars  for  a  share  of  the  beer  and  the 
merriment.  In  the  stern  sat  Gunnar,  dreamily 
gazing  down  into  the  deep,  and  at  his  side  his 
old  friend  Rhyme-Ola,  his  winking  eyes  fixed  on 
him  with  an  anxious  expression  of  almost  moth- 
erly care  and  tenderness.  In  his  hands  he  held 
some  old,  time-worn  paper,  to  which  he  quickly 
directed  his  attention  whenever  Guunar  made  the 
slightest  motion,  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  being 
detected.  When  the  customary  greetings  were 
exchanged,  the  bridegroom  asked  Rhyme-Ola  to 
let  the  company  hear  his  voice,  and  the  singer, 
as  usual,  readily  complied.  It  was  the  old, 


THE    WEDDING    OF   THE    WILD-DUCK.     189 

mournful  tale  of  Young  Kirsten  and  the  Mer- 
man ;  and  as  he  lent  his  rich,  sympathetic  voice 
to  the  simplicity  of  the  ballad,  its  pathos  became 
the  more  touching,  and  soon  the  tears  glittered 
in  many  a  tender-hearted  maiden's  eye. 

There  is  a  deep,  unconscious  romance  in  the 
daily  life  of  the  Norwegian  peasant.  One  might 
look  in  vain  for  a  scene  like  this  throughout 
Europe,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  because 
the  fjord  is  a  peculiarly  Norwegian  feature,  be- 
ing, in  life,  tone,  and  character,  as  different  from 
the  friths  of  Scotland  and  the  bays  of  the  Medi- 
terranean as  the  hoary,  rugged  pines  of  the 
North  are  from  those  slender,  smooth-grown 
things  which  in  the  South  bear  the  same  name. 
Imagine  those  graceful,  strong-built  boats,  rock- 
ing over  their  own  images  reflected  in  the  cool 
transparence  of  the  fjord ;  the  fresh,  fair-haired 
maidens  scattered  in  blooming  clusters  among 
the  elderly,  more  sedately  dressed  matrons ;  and 
the  old  men,  whose  weather-worn  faces  and 
rugged,  expressive  features  told  of  natures  of 
the  genuine  mountain  mould.  The  young  lads 


190  GUNNAR. 


sat  on  the  row-benches,  some  with  the  still  drip- 
ping oars  poised  under  their  knees,  while  they 
silently  listened  to  the  song;  others  bending 
eagerly  forward  or  leaning  on  their  elbows,  di- 
viding their  attention  between  Rhyme-Ola  and 
the  tittering  girls  on  the  benches  in  front.  They 
all  wore  red  pointed  caps,  generally  with  the 
tassel  hanging  down  over  one  side  of  the  fore- 
head, which  gave  a  certain  touch  of  roguishness 
and  light- heartedness  to  their  manly  and  clear- 
cut  visages.  And  to  complete  the  picture,  there 
is  Rhyme-Ola,  as  he  sits  aloft  on  the  beer-kegs 
in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  now  and  then  striking 
out  with  his  ragged  arms,  and  weeping  and 
laughing  according  as  the  varying  incidents  of 
his  song  affect  him.  As  a  background  to  this 
scene  stands  the  light  birch  forest  glittering 
with  its  fresh  sprouts,  and  filling  the  air  with  its 
springlike  fragrance ;  behind  this  again  the  pines 
raise  their  dusky  heads;  and  around  the  whole 
picture  the  mountains  close  their  gigantic  arms 
and  warmly  press  forest,  fjord,  and  bridal  party 
to  the  mighty  heart  of  Norway. 


THE  WEDDING   OF   THE   WILD-DUCK.     191 

When  the  ballad  was  at  an  end,  it  was  some 
time  before  any  one  spoke,  for  no  one  wished  to 
be  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"Always  the  same  mournful  tales,"  said  at 
length  one  of  the  old  men,  but  only  half  aloud, 
as  if  he  were  speaking  to  himself. 

"  Rhyme-Ola,"  cried  one  of  the  fiddlers,  "  why 
don't  you  learn  to  sing  something  jolly,  instead 
of  these  sad  old  things,  which  could  almost 
make  a  stone  weep  1 " 

"  You  might  just  as  well  tell  the  plover  to 
sing  like  the  lark,"  answered  Rhyme-Ola. 

"I  love  the  old  songs,"  said  Ragnhild  Rimul 
(for  she  was  there  also) ;  "  they  always  bring 
tears  to  my  eyes,  but  sometimes  I  like  better 
to  cry  than  to  laugh." 

Peer  Berg  now  signalled  to  the  oarsmen,  and 
the  boats  soon  shot  swiftly  in  through  the  fjord. 
In  about  an  hour  the  whole  company  landed  on 
the  Berg  pier,  and  marched  in  procession  up  to  the 
wedding-house.  First  came  the  musicians,  then 
the  bride  and  bridegroom,  and  after  them  their 
parents  and  nearest  kin.  The  guests  formed  the 


192  GUNNAR. 


rear.  Among  the  last  couples  were  Lars  Hen- 
jum  and  Ragnhild  ;  last  of  all  came  Gunnar  and 
Rhyme-Ola. 

Berg  was  an  old-fashioned  place,  for  Peer  Berg 
took  a  special  pride  in  being  old-fashioned.  Com- 
ing up  the  hill  from  the  water,  Berg  appeared 
more  like  a  small  village  than  a  single  family 
dwelling.  The  mansion  itself  in  which  Peer  with 
his  wife  and  his  Wild-Ducks  resided,  was  of  a 
most  peculiar  shape.  It  was  very  large  and 
had  two  stories,  the  upper  surrounded  by  a  huge 
balcony,  which  made  it  appear  nearly  twice  as 
broad  as  the  lower.  Over  this  balcony  shot  out 
a  most  venerable  slated  roof,  completely  over- 
grown with  moss,  grass,  and  even  shrubs  of  con- 
siderable size  ;  the  railing,  which  had  once  been 
painted  and  skilfully  carved,  was  so  high  and 
so  close  that  it  afforded  little  or  no  room  for 
the  daylight  to  peep  in  and  cheer  the  dreary  nest 
of  the  Wild-Ducks.  Round  the  mansion  lay  a 
dozen  smaller  houses  and  cottages,  scattered  in 
all  directions ;  if  they  had  grown  out  from  the 
soil  of  their  own  accord,  they  could  hardly  have 


THE  WEDDING    OF  THE   WILD-DUCK.      193 

got  into  more  awkward  or  more  irregular  posi- 
tions. One  looked  north,  another  west,  a  third 
southeast,  and  no  two  lay  parallel  or  with  their 
gables  facing  each  other.  Every  one  of  these 
houses,  however,  had  been  erected  for  some  spe- 
cial purpose.  First,  there  were,  of  course,  the 
barns  and  the  stables,  which  in  size  and  respect- 
ability nearly  rivalled  the  mansion.  Quite  in- 
dispensable were  the  servant-hall,  the  sheepfold, 
and  the  wash-house  ;  and  without  forge  and  flax- 
house  Berg  could  hardly  have  kept  up  its  repu- 
tation as  a  model  establishment. 

With  gay  music  and  noisy  laughter  and  mer- 
riment, the  bridal  procession  passed  into  the 
yard,  where  from  the  steps  of  the  mansion  they 
were  greeted  by  the  master  of  ceremonies  in  a 
high-flown  speech  of  congratulation.  The  doors 
were  then  thrown  wide  open,  and  soon  like  a 
swelling  tide  the  crowd  rolled  through  the  house, 
and  the  lofty  halls  shook  with  the  hum  and 
din  of  the  festivity.  For  at  such  times  the 
Norsemen  are  in  their  lustiest  mood  ;  then  the 
old  Saga-spirit  is  kindled  again  within  them ; 


194  GUNNAR. 


and  let  him  beware  who  durst  say  then  that  the 
Viking  blood  of  the  North  is  extinct.  The  festal 
hall  at  Berg,  which  occupied  the  whole  lower 
floor  of  the  building,  was  decorated  for  the  oc- 
casion with  fresh  leaves  and  birch  branches,  for 
the  birch  is  the  bride  of  the  trees  ;  but  as  it* 
was  still  early  in  the  season,  it  was  necessary  to 
keep  up  a  fire  on  the  open  hearth.  This  hearth 
might  indeed,  in  more  than  one  sense,  be  said  to 
have  given  a  certain  homely  color  to  everything 
present,  not  only  in  the  remoter  sense,  as  being 
the  gathering-place  of  the  family  in  the  long  win- 
ter evenings,  but  also  in  a  far  nearer  one ;  its 
smoke  had,  perhaps  for  more  than  a  century, 
been  equally  shared  by  the  chimney  and  the 
room,  and  had  settled  in  the  form  of  shining 
soot  on  walls,  rafters,  and  ceiling.  Two  long 
tables  extended  across  the  length  of  the  hall 
from  one  wall  to  another,  laden  with  the  most 
tempting  dishes.  The  seats  of  honor,  of  course, 
belonged  to  bride  and  bridegroom,  and  they 
having  taken  their  places,  the  master  of  cere- 
monies urged  the  guests  to  the  tables  and  ar- 


THE   WEDDING   OF  THE   WILD-DUCK.     195 

ranged  them  in  their  proper  order  in  accord- 
ance with  their  relative  dignity  or  their  rela- 
tionship or  acquaintance  with  the  bride.  Now 
the  blessing  was  pronounced  and  the  meal  be- 
gan. It  was  evident  enough  that  the  boating 
and  the  march  had  whetted  the  guests'  appe- 
tites ;  huge  trays  of  cream-porridge,  masses  of 
dried  beef,  and  enormous  wheaten  loaves  dis- 
appeared with  astonishing  rapidity.  Toast  upon 
toast  was  drunk,  lively  speeches  made  and  heart- 
ily applauded,  tales  and  legends  told,  and  a 
tone  of  hearty,  good-humored  merriment  pre- 
vailed. The  meal  was  a  long  one ;  when  the  feast- 
ers  rose  from  the  tables  it  was  already  dusk. 
In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  the  weather  had 
changed  ;  now  it  was  blowing  hard,  and  the 
wind  was  driving  huge  masses  of  cloud  in  through 
the  mountain  gorges.  Shadows  sank  over  the 
valley,  the  torches  were  lit  in  the  wedding- 
house,  and  a  lusty  wood-fire  crackled  and  roared 
on  the  hearth.  Then  the  tables  were  removed, 
the  music  began,  and  bride  and  bridegroom 
trod  the  springing  dance  together,  according  to 


196  GUNNAR. 


ancient  custom  ;  others  soon  followed,  and  be- 
fore long  the  floors  and  the  walls  creaked  and  the 
flames  of  the  torches  rose  and  flickered  in  fit- 
ful motion,  as  the  whirling  air-currents  seized 
and  released  them.  Those  of  the  men  who 
did  not  dance  joined  the  crowd  round  the  beer- 
"barrels,  which  stood  in  the  corner  opposite  the 
hearth,  and  there  slaked  their  thirst  with  the 
strong,  home-brewed  drink  which  Norsemen  have 
always  loved  so  well,  and  fell  into  friendly  chat 
about  the  result  of  the  late  fishery  or  the  proba- 
bilities for  a  favorable  lumber  and  grain  year. 

It  was  late,  near  midnight.  The  storm  was 
growing  wilder  without,  the  dance  within.  Clouds 
of  smoke  and  dust  arose  ;  and  as  the  hour  of 
midnight  drew  near,  the  music  of  the  violins  grew 
wilder  and  more  exciting. 

All  the  evening  Lars  Henjum  had  been  hov- 
ering near  Ragnhild,  as  if  watching  her  ;  and 
Gunnar,  who  rather  wished  to  keep  as  far  away 
as  possible  from  Lars,  had  not  spoken  to  her 
since  her  arrival.  Now,  by  chance,  she  was 
standing  next  to  him  in  the  crowd  ;  Lars  had 


THE    WEDDING    OF  THE    WILD-DUCK.     197 

betaken  himself  to  the  beer-vessel,  which,  it  was 
clear  enough,  he  had  already  visited  too  often. 
As  Gunnar  stood  there  he  felt  a  strange  sen- 
sation steal  over  him.  Ragnhild  seemed  to  be 
as  far  away  from  him  as  if  he  had  only  known 
her  slightly,  as  if  their  whole  past,  with  their 
love  and  happiness,  had  only  been  a  strange, 
feverish  dream,  from  which  they  had  now  both 
waked  tip  to  the  clear  reality.  He  glanced  over 
to  Ragnhild  and  met  a  long,  unspeakably  sad 
look  resting  on  him.  Then  like  an  electric 
shock,  a  great,  gushing  warmth  shot  from  his 
heart  and  diffused  itself  through  every  remotest 
vein  and  fibre.  The  fog-veil  of  doubt  was  gone ; 
he  was  again  in  the  power  of  his  dream,  and 
in  the  very  excess  of  his  emotion  ;  forgetting 
all  but  her,  he  seized  her  hand,  bent  over  her, 
and  whispered,  "  Ragnhild,  dearest,  do  you  know 
me  1 "  It  was  an  absurd  question,  and  he  was 
aware  of  that  himself  in  the  very  next  minute, 
but  then  it  was  already  too  late.  She,  how- 
ever, had  but  little  difficulty  in  understanding 
it  ;  for  she  only  seized  his  other  hand  too,  turned 


198  GUNNAR. 


on  him  a  face  beaming  with  joyful  radiance, 
and  said  softly,  "  Gunnar,  where  have  you  been 
so  long?"  Instead  of  an  answer,  he  flung  his 
arms  around  her  waist,  lifted  her  up  from  the 
floor  with  a  powerful  grasp,  and  away  they  went 
like  a  whirlwind. 

"  A  devil  of  a  fellow  in  the  dance,  that  Gunnar 
Henjumhei,"  said  one  of  the  lads  at  the  beer- 
vessel  to  Lars,  who  happened  to  be  his  next 
neighbor ;  "  never  saw  I  a  brisker  lad  on  a  dancing- 
floor  as  far  ba<?k  as  my  memory  goes.  And  it  is 
plain  enough  that  the  girls  think  the  same." 
Lars  heard  it,  he  saw  Gunnar's  daring  leap,  saw 
Ragnhild  bending  trustfully  towards  him,  and 
heard  the  loud  shouts  of  admiration.  In  another 
moment  he  imagined  that  all  eyes  were  directed 
towards  himself,  and  his  suspicion  read  a  pitying 
sneer  in  all  faces. 

"  No  use  for  you  to  try  there  any  longer,"  cried 
a  young  fellow,  coming  up  to  him,  and  in  the 
loving  mood  of  half-intoxication  laying  both  his 
arms  round  his  neck  ;  "  it  is  clear  the  houseman's 
boy  has  got  the  upper  hand  of  you." 


THE    WEDDING   OF   THE    WILD-DUCK.      199 

"  And  if  you  did  try,"  interposed  another,  "  all 
you  would  gain  would  be  a  sound  thrashing-;  and 
you  always  were  very  careful  about  your  skin, 
Lars." 

Lars  bit  his  lip.  Every  word  went  through 
him  like  a  poisonous  sting,  but  he  made  no 
answer.  The  bridegroom  had  gone  to  give  the 
fiddlers  a  jug  of  beer,  and  the  music  had  stopped. 
Ragnhild  sat  hot  and  flushed  on  a  bench  by  the 
wall,  and  Gudrun  stood  bending  over  her  and 
eagerly  whispering  in  her  ear.  Gunnar  walked- 
towards  the  door,  and  Lars  followed  a  few  steps 
after,  —  the  two  lads  at  some  distance.  "Now 
there  will  be  sport,  boys,"  said  they,  laughing. 

Gunnar  stood  on  the  outer  stairs,  peering  into 
the  dark,  impenetrable  night.  The  storm  had 
now  reached  its  height ;  the  wind  howled  from 
overhead  through  the  narrow  mountain  gorges ; 
it  roared  and  shrieked  from  below,  and  died  away 
in  long,  despairing  cries.  Then  it  paused  as  if  to 
draw  its  breath,  and  there  was  a  great,  gigantic 
calm,  and  again  it  burst  forth  with  increased 
violence.  To  him  it  was  a  relief  to  hear  the 


200  GVNNAR. 


storm,  it  was  a  comfort  to  feel  its  power ;  for  in 
his  own  breast  there  was  a  storm  raging  too. 
When,  ah  !  when  should  he  summon  the  courage 
to  break  all  the  ties  that  bound  him  to  the  past  ? 
Before  him  lay  the  wide  future,  great  and  promis- 
ing. O,  should  he  never  reach  that  future  1  The 
storm  made  a  fearful  rush ;  the  building  trembled ; 
something  heavy  fell  over  Gunnar's  neck,  and  he 
tumbled  headlong  down  into  the  yard.  His  first 
thought  was  that  a  plank  torn  loose  by  the  wind 
had  struck  him  ;  but  by  the  light  from  the  windows 
he  saw  a  man  leap  down  the  steps  after  him ;  he 
sprang  up  and  prepared  to  meet  him,  for  he  knew 
the  man.  "  I  might  have  known  it  was  you, 
Lars  Henjum,"  cried  he,  "  for  the  blow  was  from 
behind." 

When  Lars  saw  his  rival  on  his  feet  he  paused 
for  a  moment,  until  a  loud,  scornful  laugh  from 
the  spectators  again  kindled  his  ire. 

"  I  knew  you  would  be  afraid,  Lars  Henjum," 
shouted  a  voice  from  the  crowd. 

Ounnar  was  just  turning  to  receive  Lars  when 
a  blow,  heavier  than  the  first,  struck  him  from 


THE    WEDDING    OF   THE    WILD-DUCK.     201 

behind  over  his  left  ear.  The  darkness  was  thick, 
and  Lars  took  advantage  of  the  darkness. 

The  flaring,  unsteady  light  of  a  few  torches 
struggled  with  the  gloom ;  men  and  women,  young 
and  old,  pressed  out  with  burning  sticks  and 
firebrands  in  their  hands,  and  soon  the  wedding- 
guests  had  formed  a  close  ring  around  the  com- 
batants, and  stared  with  large  eyes  at  the  wild 
and  bloody  play ;  for  they  knew  that  the  end  of 
such  a  scene  is  always  blood.  At  windows  and 
doors  crowds  of  young  maidens  watched  the  fight- 
ers, with  fright  and  eager  interest  painted  in  their 
youthful  faces,  and  clasped  each  other  more  tightly 
for  every  blow  that  fell. 

By  the  light  of  the  burning  logs  Gunnar  now 
found  his  opponent.  Wildly  they  rushed  at  each 
other,  and  wild  was  the  combat  that  followed. 
Revenge,  long-cherished  hatred,  burned  in  Lars's 
eye ;  and  as  the  memory  of  past  insults  returned, 
the  blood  ran  hotter  through  Gunnar's  veins. 
The  blows  came  quick  and  strong  on  either  side, 
and  it  would  have  been  hard  to  tell  who  gave  and 
who  received  the  most.  At  last  a  well-directed 
9* 


202  GUNNAR. 


blow  struck  Lars  in  the  head ;  the  blood  streamed 
from  his  mouth  and  nostrils,  he  reeled  .and  fell 
backward.  A  subdued  murmur  ran  through  the 
crowd.  Two  men  sprang  forward,  bent  over  him, 
and  asked  if  he  was  much  hurt.  Gunnar  was 
about  to  go,  when  suddenly  he  saw  the  wounded 
man  leap  to  his  feet,  a  long  knife  gleaming  in  his 
hand  ;  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  was  again  at 
his  side ;  he  wrung  the  weapon  from  his  grasp, 
and  held  it  threatening  over  his  head.  "  Beg 
now  for  your  life,  you  cowardly  wretch ! "  cried 
he,  pale  with  rage. 

Lars  foamed;  he  made  a  rush  for  the  knife, 
but,  missing  it,  he  flung  his  arms  round  Gunnar's 
waist  and  struggled  to  throw  him.  Gunnar  strove 
to  free  himself.  In  the  contest,  Lars's  foot  slipped ; 
they  both  tumbled  to  the  ground.  A  shooting 
pain  ran  through  Lars's  body;  in  another  mo- 
ment he  felt  nothing.  A  red  stream  gushed  from 
his  side;  he  had  fallen  on  his  own  knife.  Gun- 
nar rose  slowly,  saw  and  shuddered.  The  last 
gleam  of  the  torches  flickered,  dying. 

Wildly  howled  the  storm,  but  over  the  storm 


THE   WEDDING   OF  THE    WILD-DUCK.     203 

arose  a  helpless  shriek  of  despair.  "0  Gunnar, 
Gunnar,  what  hast  thou  done1?"  And  Ragnhild 
sprang  from  the  stairs,  frantically  pressed  onward 
through  the  throng,  and  flung  herself  upon  Lars's 
bloody  body.  She  lifted  her  eyes  to  Gunnar  with 
horror.  "0  Gunnar,  may  God  be  merciful  to 
thee ! " 

The  last  spark  was  quenched.  Night  lay  be- 
fore him,  night  behind  him.  He  turned  towards 
the  night  —  and  fled.  - 


XII. 


THREE  YEARS  LATER. 

|HREE  years  are  a  long  time  to  look 
forward  to,  but  how  short  they  appear 
when  once  they  are  past !  That  this 
was  Ragnhild's  experience,  she  half  reluctantly 
confessed  to  herself,  as  in  the  third  spring  after 
the  long-remembered  Berg  wedding  she  wan- 
dered with  her  flocks  to  the  mountains,  where  the 
old  saeter  cottages  stood  ready  to  receive  her. 
And  still,  how  wretched  had  she  been  in  the 
first  months  after  he  had  left  her,  how  slowly  and 
miserably  had  the  days  crept  along !  She  had 
said  that  she  would  nevermore  be  happy,  and 
happy  she  had  not  been ;  but  time,  the  healer  of 
all  wounds,  had  also  blunted  the  sting  of  her 
sorrow.  She  no  longer  thought  of  Gunnar  with 
pain  or  regret ;  for  her  faith  in  him  was  great, 


THREE    YEARS  LATER.  205 

and  as  the  echo  of  his  many  and,  as  she  now 
thought,  wonderful  words  rung  in  her  memory, 
she  was  even  at  times  filled  with  an  heroic  devo- 
tion which  made  her  strong  to  bear  many  a  hard 
struggle  which  was  to  come. 

Lars  seemed  to  have  grown  much  gentler  since 
the  affray  at  the  wedding.  He  had  been  obliged 
to  keep  his  bed  for  months,  and  it  had  even  for 
some  time  been  doubtful  whether  he  was  to  re- 
gain his  health  at  all.  Of  marriage  there  had 
been  little  said  of  late ;  and  if  people  had  not 
known  both  Atle  Henjum  and  his  sister  so  well, 
they  might  have  supposed  that  the  whole  plan 
had  been  abandoned  long  ago.  But  Atle  had 
been  waiting  for  a  favorable  moment.  .This  he 
now  believed  to  have  come ;  Ragnhild  was  com- 
posed and  cheerful,  Lars  again  as  strong  as  ever, 
and,  to  make  everything  complete,  the  fishery 
had  yielded  this  year  nearly  twice  as  much  as 
usual,  so  the  widow  would  be  fully  able  to  make 
a  magnificent  wedding,  and  that  without  touching 
either  bank-book  or  the  silver  dollars  on  the 
bottom  of  her  chests.  Lars  had  accordingly  set 


206  GUN  NAB. 


out  again  for  a  visit  to  Rimul ;  and  had  he  come 
an  hour  earlier,  he  would  probably  have  found 
Raguhild  at  home.  Now  he  came  in  vain. 

The  little  cottage  at  Henjunihei  looked  cheer- 
less and  desolate  since  Gunnar  had  gone.  The 
rock  still  stood  frowning  over  it ;  the  overhanging 
birch-trees  still  shook  their  yellow  flower-dust 
upon  its  roof,  and  wafted  their  spring  breath  in 
through  the  open  windows ;  the  brisk  river  had  not 
yet  ceased  to  shower  its  cold  spray  over  its  walls  ; 
and  yet,  if  you  happened  to  enter,  you  would 
hardly  have  said  that  it  was  the  same  cottage  you 
had  seen  years  ago.  There  sat  old  Gunhild  on 
the  hearth,  and  spun  early  and  late,  spun  and 
spun  day  after  day,  and  never  tired.  Never 
tired  1  Perhaps,  if  you  looked  more  closely,  you 
would  find  that  three  years  had  wrought  great 
changes  in  old  Gunhild.  She  is  no  longer  the 
cheerful,  vigorous  woman  she  used  to  be.  She 
talks  very  little  now,  for  she  has  no  one  to  talk 
with.  Thor  was  always  a  man  of  few  words,  and 
now  they  are  fewer  than  ever.  Moreover  he 
spends  all  his  day  in  field  and  forest ;  and  when 


THREE  YEARS  LATER.         207 

he  comes  home  late  at  night,  hungry  and  tired, 
it  is  only  to  sit  down  in  the  fireside  corner  and 
there  smoke  on  in  silence,  until  sleep  comes  and 
makes  the  silence  deeper.  They  had  heard  from 
Gunnar  only  twice  in  the  three  years  he  had 
been  gone.  In  the  first  letter,  which  came  some 
six  or  seven  months  after  his  departure,  he  had 
told  them  of  his  nightly  flight  from  the  valley,  of 
his  long  wanderings  and  many  hardships  before 
he  reached  the  capital  and  was  finally  admitted  to 
the  Academy  of  Art.  The  second  letter  was  filled 
with  enthusiastic  praises  of  his  friend  Herr  Vogt, 
a  young  man  who  was  studying  at  the  University, 
and  who,  from  the  time  of  their  first  meeting,  had 
never  ceased  to  shower  upon  him  new  tokens  of 
regard.  Time  and  daily  intercourse  had  now 
ripened  their  intimacy  into  the  warmest  and 
sincerest  friendship.  Vogt  was  the  son  of  a 
wealthy  clergyman,  who  lived  at  some  distance 
from  the  city,  and  Gunnar  had  received  repeated 
invitations  to  spend  his  vacation  at  his  home, 
which,  however,  for  some  reason  or  other  he  had 
declined.  He  had  hitherto  made  his  way  by 


208  GUNNAR. 


giving  lessons  in  drawing,  and  by  selling  his 
sketches  and  compositions  to  illustrated  papers. 
About  Ragnhild  he  wrote  not  a  word. 

Strange  it  may  seem  that,  in  spite  of  Gunnar's 
success  and  happiness,  his  grandmother  mourned 
him  almost  as  if  he  had  been  dead.  "  Was  it  not 
what  I  always  said,  Thor,  that  that  picture  busi- 
ness would  be  sure  to  lead  the  child  astray  ?  But 
you  never  would  listen  to  me,  you  Thor,  when  I 
told  you  to  set  the  boy  to  honest  work.  There 
is  no  blessing  in  stepping  beyond  one's  own  sta- 
tion, my  father  used  to  say ;  and  sure  enough, 
there  can  come  no  lasting  blessing  fro"m  it  either, 
Thor." 

"  It  is  often  hard  to  tell  where  one's  station  is," 
Thor  would  answer. 

One  day  he  had  been  helping  the  girls  to  get 
the  saeter  cottages  in  order ;  and  as  there  were  a 
hundred  things  to  do,  and  he  the  surest  hand  to 
do  them,  time  had  slipped  by  unnoticed,  and  the 
sun  had  already  risen  before  he  was  on  his  home- 
ward way  :  for  sunset  and  sunrise  follow  close  in 
each  other's  track  in  the  month  of  midsummer. 


THREE  YEARS  LATER.         209 

As  he  passed  the  parsonage,  he  saw  the  old  pastor 
walking  in  his  garden,  with  slippers  and  dressing- 
gown,  and  a  long-stemmed  meerschaum  pipe  in 
his  mouth. 

"  Good  morning,  Thor,"  said  the  pastor,  with  a 
friendly  nod. 

"Good  morning.  The  pastor  is  early  on  foot 
to-day."  And  Thor  pulled  his  red  pointed  cap 
from  his  head  and  held  it  respectfully  in  his  hand, 
while  the  pastor  addressed  him. 

"  When  one  gets  old  one  cannot  always  sleep  at 
pleasure ;  and  when  light  and  darkness  are  no 
longer  the  distinctions  between  day  and  night, 
one  is  often  tempted  to  get  up  both  in  season  and 
out  of  season,  according  as  wakefulness  or  weari- 
ness bids.  In  sleepless  nights,  however,  I  always 
have  something  to  go  by.  As  soon  as  I  hear  my 
hens  cackling  in  the  yard,  I  know  the  ho.ur,  and 
then  there  is  no  longer  any  question  about  stay- 
ing in  bed." 

"I  think  the  pastor  once  told  me,"  observed 
Thor,  taking  a  few  steps  forward,  and  leaning 
over  the  railing,  "that  he  was  always  a  light 

H 


210  GUNNAR. 


sleeper.  And  when  a  man  has  so  much  in  his 
head  as  we  know  the  pastor  has,  it  is  no  wonder 
that  he  finds  little  time  for  rest." 

"But  how  with  yourself,  Thor?  Age  seems  to 
be  gaining  on  you  fast.  You  do  not  look  half  as 
vigorous  as  you  did  a  few  years  ago." 

"One  has  to  take  things  as  they  come."  Here 
Thor  paused,  raised  his  head  abruptly,  and  looked 
full  into  the  pastor's  face.  "  I  suppose  every 
one  has  his  share  of  troubles,"  he  added,  rather 
hurriedly. 

"  Come  in,  Thor,"  and  the  minister  opened  the 
garden  gate ;  "  come  and  sit  down  with  me  on 
this  bench  here.  It  is  a  very  long  time  since  we 
had  a  good  talk  together." 

Thor  entered  and  took  a  seat  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  bench. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  intrude  on  you,"  continued 
the  pastor,  striking  a  match  on  the  bench,  and 
proceeding  to  light  his  pipe,  which  during  the 
conversation  had  been  neglected.  "I  have  no 
intention  of  being  inquisitive ;  but  as  your  pastor, 
I  might  perhaps  be  able  to  bring  you  aid  and 


THREE   YEARS  LATER.  211 

counsel  in  the  sorrows  and  troubles  which  beset 
you."  Although  thus  invited  to  speak,  Thor  for 
some  time  remained  silent,  while  the  minister, 
with  eager  sympathy,  watched  the  struggling 
emotions  in  his  rugged  features.  It  was  not 
Thor's  habit  to  speak ;  sympathy  and  confidence 
were  quite  unknown  things  to  him. 

"  Pastor,"  he  broke  forth  at  last,  and  his  voice- 
trembled  as  he  spoke,  "  you  may  remember  Gun- 
nar,  my  son.  God  knows  I  miss  him  very  much." 
A  peasant's  thought  is  simple,  and  simple  is  his 
way  of  uttering  it ;  but  the  minister  saw  through 
Thor's  rough  speech  into  the  deep,  loving  nature 
beyond. 

"  Thor,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not  wonder  that  you 
miss  your  son;  I  confess,  I  often  miss  him  my- 
self. But  then  we  must  believe  that  God  knows 
what  is  best  for  us  all.  And  as  regards  Gunnar,  I 
can  give  you  great  proofs  that  God  holds  his 
protecting  hand  over  him.  It  was  not  for  noth- 
ing I  called  you  as  you  passed.  Only  look  here  !" 
The  pastor  pulled  a  letter  and  a  newspaper  out  of 
his  breast-pocket,  and  handed  both  to  the  peasant, 


212  GUNNAR. 


while  kindness  and  triumphant  joy  beamed  forth 
from  his  countenance,  "  But  wait  n  minute,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  perhaps  I  had  better  tube  the  paper, 
and  if  you  would  like  to  listen,  I  will  read  you 
something  that  may  possibly  interest  you." 

"  I  urn  not  very  good  •at  letters,"  answered 
Thor,  quietly.  "  I  should  like  much  if  the  pastor 
would  be  kind  -enough  to  read." 

The  Ottoer  unfolded  the  paper  and  began  ;  "  The 
gold  medal  of  the  Academy  of  Art  was  this  year 
awarded  Mr.  Gunnar  Thorson  Henjumhei,  from 
the  parish  of  T in  Bergen  Stift ;  and  a  sti- 
pend for  two  years  'of  foreign  travel,  to  which 
this  prize  entitles  him,  will  be  conferred  on  him 
from  August  1st,  prox.  Never,  since  the  earliest 
days  of  the  Academy,  has  an  opportunity  been 
afforded  us  of  expressing  a  heartier  approval  of 
its  decisions  than  on  this  occasion.  Mr.  Hen- 
jumhei is  evidently  a  genius  of  no  ordinary  scope, 
and  we  dare  confidently  predict  for  him  a  place 
among  the  stars  of  the  first  magnitude,  on  the 
northern  horizon  of  art.  This  is  certainly  much 
to  say,  but  not  too  much ;  for  even  the  slightest 


THREE   YEARS  LATER.  213 

glance  at  his  Hulder  (now  on  exhibition  in  the 
Academy)  will  convince  the  beholder  that  here 
is  one  of  the  favored  few  whom  Nature  has  truly 
admitted  into  her  confidence.  Judged,  however, 
by  the  strictest  rules  of  art,  the  Hulder  is  not 
perfect,,  and  perhaps  far  from  perfect.  But  it  is 
not  conventional  perfection  we  ask  from  our  young 
artists.  Mr.  Henjumheirs  Hulder  possesses  quali- 
ties compared  with  which,  we  had  nearly  said, 
even  perfection  would  be  of  small  account.  The 
Hulder,  in  spite  of  imperfect  foreshortenings  and 
unwieldy  drapery,  is  all  instinct  with  the  native 
fire  of  genius,  and  glows  with  a  life  which  neither 
rules  nor  teachings  could  impart.  The  weird 
grandeur  of  the  tradition  could  never  have  found 
a  happier  and  more  poetic  expression  than  in 
those  unfathomable,  inward-looking  eyes,  in  the 
harmoniously  dramatic,  gesture  of  the  raised  hand, 
suggesting  the  idea  that  she  is  listening  to  some 
word  or  sound  which,,  we  feel  sure,,  none  but  her- 
self can  hear,  — 

'  To  the  breathless,  anxious  secret 
Which  ever  muat  rest  untold.' 


214  GUNNAR. 


And  again,  the  light,  sportful  airiness,  the  deep, 
nameless  longings,  which,  as  they  are  blended  in 
our  popular  superstition,  give  such  a  rich  charm 
to  this  legendary  being, — these  are  traits  which 
the  artist  can  well  feel  and  express,  but  are  of 
too  subtile  a  nature  for  the  critic  to  dissect  and 
analyze.  She  is,  as  the  ballad  expresses  it,  'the 
grace  of  the  sunshine  to  the  fir-tree's  grotesque- 
ness  wed.' 

"Before  closing  our  notice,  we  shall  in  confi- 
dence relate  what  a  bird  has  sung  to  us,  namely, 
that  Mr.  Heujumhei  caught  the  inspiration  for 
his  Hulder  from  some  fair  damsel  in  his  native 
valley,  to  whom  the  picture  in  some  points  is 
said  to  bear  a  striking  resemblance.  If  true,  we 
will  hope,  in  the  interest  of  art,  that  he  may 
soon  find  the  charm  to  bind  the  wayward  sprite. 
For,  in  sooth,  he  is  a  youth  of  whom  any  damsel, 
yea,  old  Norway  herself,  may  justly  be  proud." 

The  pastor's  incorrigible  pipe  had  again  gone 
out  during  the  reading.  While  lighting  it,  his 
eyes  were  firmly  riveted  on  his  listener.  Thor 
sat  immovable  as  a  statue ;  but  a  tear  trembled 


THREE   YEARS  LATER.  215 

in  his  eyelid,  and  stole  down  his  weather-fur- 
rowed cheek. 

"  Good  by,  pastor,"  said  he,  rose  quickly,  and 
went. 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning 
when  Thor  saw  his  cottage  peeping  forth  be- 
tween the  light  birch-trees.  The  night  must 
have  been  very  damp ;  every  .tiny  leaf  and  sprig 
was  hung  with  glittering  dew-drops,  and  as  the 
sun  smote  them  they  played  and  sparkled  as 
from  a  luminous  life  within  them.  Thor  looked 
up,  took  two  steps  backward,  shaded  his  eyes 
with  his  hand,  and  gazed  again.  For  fifty  years 
had  he  lived  in  that  cottage,  and  how  many  a 
time  in  those  years  the  sun  and  the  dew  had 
lent  it  their  beauty !  To  him  it  was  as  if  to-day 
he  saw  it  for  the  first  time,  at  least  since  those 
early  years  he  had  struggled  so  bravely  to  forget. 
On  the  bench  before  the  door  sat  his  old  moth- 
er with  her  knitting-work.  "  Poor  thing,"  mut- 
tered he,  "she  wants  to  do  everything  for  the 
best.  But  well  for  the  boy  that  he  was  stronger 
than  his  father,  or  rather  that  a  stronger  hand 


216  GUNNAR. 


came  in  between  him  and  us.  'A  youth  whom 
old  Norway  herself  may  justly  be  proud  of,' " 
added  he,  musingly.  "  I  knew  well  there  was 
the  right  mettle  in  him." 

Then,  of  course,  Thor  hastened  to  his  mother 
with  his  news,  that  she  might  also  know  and 
share  his  joy.  No,  his  joy  was  one  which  none 
but  himself  could  feel,  and  none  but  his  God 
should  share  it  with  him.  So  he  wandered  down 
toward  the  river,  seated  himself  on  a  large  moss- 
grown  stone,  where  a  heavy-browed  fir  stooped  out 
over  the  rapids,  and  watched  the  strong,  tumult- 
uous life  of  the  whirling  waters. 

The  sun  already  stood  high  in  the  heavens, 
when  old  Gunhild,  lifting  her  eyes  from  her 
knitting,  and  adjusting  her  spectacles,  which 
had  slid  down  to  the  tip  of  her  nose,  saw  her 
son  coming  up  toward  the  bench  where  she  sat. 
Her  quick  eye  caught  the  change  in  him.  A 
calm,  trustful  happiness  pervaded  his  whole  be- 
ing, and  beamed  forth  from  his  countenance. 

"  Son,"  said  she,  "  I  should  say  that  you  must 
bring  good  news  from  the  saeter." 


THREE  YEARS  LATER.         217 


"So  I  do,  mother,"  replied  he,  "and  from 
farther  off  too  than  the  saeter." 

"Thor,"  cried  she,  dropping  her  knitting  in 
her  lap,  "has  the  boy  come?" 

"  Not  that  I  know,"  said  Thor,  "  but  here,  let 
him  speak  for  himself."  And  he  took  the  letter 
out  from  his  inside  waistcoat-pocket,  sat  down  at 
his  mother's  side,  and  broke  the  seal. 

"  No,  no,"  demanded  she,  "  let  me  look  at  the 
seal,  let  me  see  the  address  and  the  postmark." 

"  Mother,"  said  Thor,  laughing,  "  one  would 
suppose  you  were  ten  years  old.  Now  come,  let 
us  read  together ;  and  when  I  can't  make  it  out, 
then  you  shall  help  me."  The  letter  was  written 
on  a  large  sheet,  folded  together  without  envelope, 
in  the  old  fashion.  The  father  glanced  down  the 
whole  sheet,  turned  over  on  the  next  page,  then 
to  the  first  again,  and  finally  began  :  — 

"  My  dear  Father  and  Grandmother  —  " 

"  The  blessed  child,  the  blessed  child  ! "  inter- 
rupted the  latter,  already  wiping  her  eyes  with 
her  apron,  and  nodding  her  head. 

"  Hush  now,  you  must  please  be  quiet  for  a 
minute."  10 


218  GVNNAR. 


"  My  dear  Father  and  Grandmother  :  Hurrah  ! 
here  I  stand,  with  the  gold  medal  in  my  hand, 
and  my  head  dizzy  with  the  glorious  thought 
of  two  years  of  foreign  travel.  Alone  did  the 
poor  boy  set  out  in  quest  of  his  beautiful  prin- 
cess, and  long  was  the  way.  Perhaps  even  his 
father  and  his  mother,  and  every  one  he  loved, 
sent  him,  if  not  a  curse,  at  least  a  pitying  smile 
or  a  shoulder-shrug,  for  company  on  his  journey. 
They  knew  nothing  of  his  princess,  and  cared  to 
know  nothing.  But  the  boy  knew  her,  and  knew 
that  she  was  to  be  his.  Many  strange  creatures 
did  he  meet  on  his  wanderings.  Both  Necken 
and  the  Hulder,  and  numberless  trolds,  large  and 
small,  sat  waiting  for  him  along  the  wayside, 
some  to  help  him,  others  to  do  him  harm.  0,  if 
you  could  have  seen  the  Hulder  of  my  heart !  She 
it  was  who  taught  me  the  way  to  the  mountain. 
Now  I  can  discern  the  luminous  path  that  leads 
to  the  castle  where  sleeps  the  beautiful  princess. 

"An  hour  ago  I  stood  with  some  twenty  oth- 
ers in  the  vestibule  of  the  Academy,  awaiting  the 
final  declaration  of  the  prizes.  My  heart  was  now 


THREE  YEARS  LATER.        219 

in  my  throat,  now  in  my  boots,  and  everywhere 
else,  except  where  it  ought  to  have  been.  The 
stairs  and  the  square  were  crowded  with  people, 
and  we  twenty  culprits  stood  there,  heated  and 
anxious  or  shivering,  according  to  each  one's 
particular  temperament,  but  struggling  hard  to 
look  unconcerned.  The  rest  is  to  me  like  a  dream. 
I  only  know  that  I  rushed  out  desperately,  hugged 
to  my  heart  the  first  man  I  happened  to  meet, 
which  fortunately  was  Vogt,  and  now  I  sit  here 
trying  to  make  you  believe  that  all  this  is  not  a 
fleeting  vision,  but  true  and  sober  reality. 

"  I  need  not  write  more,  for  I  shall  soon  be  with 
you.  In  two  days  I  shall  start  on  a  pedestrian 
journey  with  Vogt,  for  the  purpose  of  studying 
our  great  mountains  and  glaciers  with  my  new 
eyes.  Vogt  will  visit  the  parsonage.  His  father, 
who  is  a  clergyman  and  an  old  college  friend  of 
our  pastor's,  once  spent  some  time  in  our  valley, 
and,  I  believe,  knows  the  Henjum  people  quite 
well..  Promise  me,  however,  that  you  will  tell 
no  one  that  I  am  coming.  I  have  my  own  rea- 
sons for  wishing  it  to  be  a  secret.  How  happy 


220  GUNNAR. 


I  shall  be  to  sit  once  again  on  the  hearth  iu 
our  cottage  and  hear  once  more  grandmother's 
old  stories ;  for  grandmother  mnst  tell  them  all 
over  again  !  My  affectionate  greetings  to  you  all, 
father,  grandmother,  the  birch-trees,  and  the  old 
cottage. 

"  Your  son, 

"  GUNNAR  THORSON  HENJUMHEI." 

"  Heaven  be  praised,"  sobbed  Gunhild,  who 
toward  the  close  had  found  ample  use  for  her 
apron,  —  "  Heaven  be  praised  for  all  its  dispensa- 
tions, both  good  and  evil.  Yea,  God  knows  we 
have  mourned  enough  for  the  blessed  child.  And 
now  he  will  come  back.  0  yes,  I  knew  he  would 
come  home  again,  I  always  knew  it !  You  well 
remember  what  I  used  to  say  to  you,  Thor. 
*  Thor/  I  would  say,  '  the  boy  will  soon  find  — '  " 

But  Thor  had  already  betaken  himself  to  the 
river,  where  he  still  sat  poring  over  his  letter,  and 
reading  it  half  aloud  to  himself;  while  Gunhild 
indefinitely  continued  her  soliloquy,  with  only 
the  pines  and  the  birch-trees  listening. 


XIII. 
RHYME-OLA'S  MESSAGE. 

]T  was  of  course  not  long  before  the  ru- 
mor of  Gunnar's  great  good  fortune 
spread  through  the  valley,  from  one  end 
to  the  other,  and,  as  rumors  are  wont  to  do,  ex- 
panded on  its  flight  into  fabulous  dimensions. 
Among  the  first  whom  it  reached  was  Rhyme-Ola, 
and  it  is  doubtful  if  Thor  Henjumhei  himself  re- 
joiced more  in  it ;  but  Rhyme-Ola  had  his  own 
way  of  showing  his  emotions  ;  on  this  occasion,  it 
is  said,  he  danced,  laughed,  and  wept,  and  on  the 
whole  behaved  so  that  people  thought  he  had  gone 
mad.  The  next  thing  he  did  was  to  appoint  him- 
self the  sole  authorized  bearer  of  the  message  ; 
and,  beginning  at  the  eastern  end  of  the  valley, 
he  wandered  from  farm  to  farm  and  from  cottage 
to  cottage,  proclaiming  the  great  tidings. 


222  GUNNAR. 


Old  Gunhild  Henjumhei  had  grown  quite  lame 
and  stiff  of  late  years,  and  had  not  been  able  to 
move  about  much.  But  as  next  Sermon-Sunday 
approached,  she  began  making  extensive  prepara- 
tions in  the  way  of  arranging  and  increasing 
her  wardrobe.*  For  to  church  she  would  go  on 
that  day,  she  said,  whether  she  should  have  to 
creep  or  to  walk.  "  And  my  best  red  striped 
skirt,  which  has  lain  so  long  at  the  bottom  of  my 
chest,  I  shall  then  put  on.  For  I  want  to  look 
my  best,  for  the  blessed  child's  sake.  And  if  I 
were  you,  Thor,  I  certainly  should  have  a  new 
jacket  made  before  Sunday.  You  have  worn  this 
quite~loiig  enough  now." 

Thor,  after  some  faint  resistance,  had  to  yield 
the  point.  And  the  Sermon-Sunday  came.  Most 
of  the  people  had  already  arrived,  and  stood  in 
scattered  groups,  talking  by  the  wall  or  in  the 
church-yard,  when  Thor  came  slowly  marching  in 
through  the  gate,  with  his  old  mother  leaning  on 

*  One  minister  in  the  distant  valleys  of  Norway  is  often  the 
pastor  of  two  or  three  parishes,  and  officiates  at  different 
times  in  different  churches.  Thus  only  every  second  or  every 
third  Sunday  may  be  a  "  Sermon-Sunday." 


RHYME-OLA'S  MESSAGE.  223 

his  arm.  He  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to 
the  left,  but  walked  straight  toward  the  church- 
door.  But  Gunhild  protested.  "  Wait  a  moment, 
Thor,"  demanded  she,  half  aloud  ;  "  I  am  an  old 
woman,  you  know,  and  cannot  trot  along  as  fast 
as  you  perhaps  would  like.  Let  us  rest  a  little 
here,  as  other  people  do,  to  greet  friends  and 
neighbors."  Thor  had  again  to  yield,  though  this 
time  rather  reluctantly  ;  for  to  him  the  attention 
they  attracted  had  no  part  in  the  joy  he  felt  for 
his  son.  Not  so  with  Gunhild  ;  she  was  not  loath 
to  receive  her  due  share  of  the  public  notice. 
They  stepped  into  the  small  paths  between  the 
graves,  and  walked  over  towards  the  southern  gate 
where  the  women  were  standing.  There  they 
stopped,  and  Gunhild  leaned  against  the  white 
stone  fence.  Four  or  five  elderly  women  came  up 
to  speak  to  her.  Two  of  them  were  gardmen's 
wives.  Thor  withdrew  to  join  the  crowd  which 
stood  nearest.  All  eyes  were  turned  on  him  as  he 
approached. 

"Well    met,  Thor  Henjumhei,"  broke  forth  a 
chorus  of  voices.      "  And  thanks  for  last   meet- 


224  GUNNAR. 


ing,"  added  two  or  three  men,  reaching  him  their 
hands. 

"  Well  met,"  said  Thor,  shaking  hands  round, 
"  and  thanks  to  yourselves.  A  goodly  number  of 
church-folks  to-day,"  continued  he  ;  "  more  than 
I  ever  remember  to  have  seen  in  harvest-times." 

"A  pastor  like  ours  is  well  worth  hearing," 
replied  a  tall,  grave  man,  who  stood  next  to  him. 

"  They  say  your  son  has  come  to  great  honor 
in  the  capital,  Thor,"  cried  a  high-pitched  voice 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  crowd.  It  was  Peer 
Berg,  the  father  of  the  "  Wild-Ducks." 

"About  the  honor  I  know  but  little.  He  has 
struggled  bravely,  and  has  had  the  luck  with  him, 
God  be  praised." 

"  The  rumor  goes  that  the  king  himself  has 
spoken  to  him,  and  promised  to  send  him  to  Ro- 
man-town and  German-land,"  ejaculated  one,  who 
evidently  made  some  pretensions  to  a  knowledge 
of  geography. 

"  If  that  were  true,  I  should  most  likely  have 
heard  of  it,"  was  Thor's  reply. 

"  Is    it   not   true    either,"    asked    Peer    Berg, 


RHYME- OLA'S  MESSAGE.  225 

"  that  he  gained  all  the  biggest  gold  and  sil- 
ver pieces  in  the  Ca-Ca-Camedy,  or  whatever 
you  call  it,  and  that  all  in  one  rub  1  " 

Thor  answered  something,  but  "the  iron 
tongues  of  the  steeple "  spoke  with  a  mightier 
voice  ;  the  air  quivered  as  with  full  throated 
song,  and  he  listened,  and  forgot  what  lie  was 
about  to  say.  The  crowds  broke  up,  and  scat- 
tered ;  and  with  slow  and  solemn  tread  the  peo- 
ple drew  toward  the  church-door.  Soon  the 
draroh-yard  was  almost  deserted  ;  the  entrance- 
hymn  was  already  streaming  out  through  the 
open  windows,  when  Thor  and  Gunhild  had 
reached  the  door.  Then  a  pretty  young  girl, 
in  her  Sunday  dress,  with  rich,  sunny  hair,  came 
quickly  up  to  them,  looked  rather  shyly  around 
her,  and  seized  Gunhild's  hand  and  shook  it.  "  I 
also  wanted  to  shake  h;m<ls  with  you,"  said  she, 
dropping  her  eyes,  and  looking  on  the  ground. 
For  a  moment  she  stood  still,  holding  the  old 
woman's  hand,  and  hesitating,  as  if  she  wanted 
to  say  something  more,  then  again  dropped  it, 
and  vanished  through  the  open  door. 

10*  o 


226  GUNNAR. 


"  Bless  the  child,"  said  Gunhild,  "she  cer- 
tainly had  something  on  her  heart." 

The  girl  was  Ragnhild  Rimul. 

Walking  home  from  church  that  same  Sun- 
day, Ragnhild  met  her  mother's  brother,  Atle 
Henjum.  He  was  just  coming  down  the  hill- 
side from  Rimul,  and  had  probably  been  pay- 
ing Ingeborg  a  sabbath  visit.  He  gave  her  a 
friendly  nod  as  she  passed.  There  was  noth- 
ing unusual  in  Atle's  going  to  see  his  sis- 
ter ;  and  still,  without  knowing  why,  she  felt 
strangely  oppressed  after  having  seen  him.  And 
then  that  nod ;  he  usually  took  no  notice  of 
her  whatever.  When  she  gained  the  Rimul  gate, 
an  unaccountable  anxiety  took  such  possession 
of  her  that  she  had  to  stop  to  compose  herself 
before  entering.  The  yard  looked  scrupulously 
swept  and  clean,  as  it  always  did  on  Sundays ; 
but  to-day  it  bore  a  most  distressing  air  of 
awkward,  self-conscious  stiffness.  On  the  stair- 
case of  the  stabur,  or  store-house,  sat  her  mother 
feeding  the  poultry,  but,  as  Ragnhild  felt,  evident- 
ly waiting  for  her  to  come  home.  As  she 


RHYME- OLA'S  MESSAGE.  227 

came  within  sight,  Ingeborg  rose  and  beckoned 
to  her.  The  poultry  knew  her  too  well  to  mind 
her  presence.  Only  the  cock  laid  his  head  on 
one  side,  and  looked  up  at  her  with  a  knowing 
air,  as  if  to  make  her  understand  that  he  was 
well  aware  of  what  was  coming. 

"  What  was  the  text  to-day  1 "  asked  Ingeborg, 
as  her  daughter  stood  before  her. 

"About  the  Pharisee  and  the  Publican,"  an- 
swered Ragnhild. 

"  And  what  did  the  pastor  say  1 " 

"Well,  I  could  hardly  tell,  but  it  was  uncom- 
monly fine,  everything  he  did  say." 

"  Much  church-people  1 " 

"A  great  many."  Ragnhild  was  still  stand- 
ing in  the  yard,  her  mother  a  few  steps  up  the 
stairs.  She  fixed  a  strange,  searching  glance  on 
the  daughter,  and  that  firm  decision  in  the  lines 
about  her  mouth  gradually  relaxed  into  an  anx- 
ious, quivering  doubt. 

"  Ragnhild,"  said  she,  suddenly,  "  you  do  not 
tell  half  of  what  you  think."  Ragnhild  raised 
her  large,  innocent  eyes  in  wonder,  but  as  they 


228  GUNNAR. 


met  her  mother's  a  deep  blush  stole  over  her 
cheeks ;  bewildered,  she  dropped  her  hymn-book 
and  handkerchief,  and  quickly  stooped  down  to 
recover  them.  It  was  a  good  while  before  she 
found  them, 

"  Ragnhild,"  said  Ingeborg,  with  an  unusual 
tremor  in  her  voice,  "  come  into  the  stabur  here, 
child,  and  let  me  speak  to  you."  And  she 
opened  the  heavy  iron-mounted  door,  and  Ragn- 
hild followed.  It  was  a  large,  spacious  apart- 
ment, lighted  by  a  few  small,  barred  openings 
high  up  on  the  wall.  All  around  the  room  stood 
bins,  filled  with  grain  of  various  kinds,  and  from 
the  ceiling  hung,  in  long-continued  rows,  hams, 
and  pieces  of  smoked  and  salted  beef.  But 
what  especially  attracted  the  eye  were  three 
huge  chests  with  vaulted  covers,  elaborately 
carved  and  painted,  and  exhibiting  the  like- 
nesses of  mermaids,  dwarfs,  trolds,  and  other 
fabulous  creatures.  Through  all  these  fanciful 
surroundings'  could  clearly  be  traced  the  shapes 
of  four  or  five  letters,  probably  the  initials  of 
some  long-deceased  ancestor  or  ancestress  of  the 


RHYME-OLAS  MESSAGE.  229 

Henjuin  and  Rimul  families.  The  widow  took 
the  young  girl's  hand,  and  led  her  up  to  within 
four  or  five  steps  of  the  chests. 

"  Daughter,"  said  she,  solemnly,  and  point- 
ing to  the  middle  one,  "  can  you  read  those 
letters  ]  " 

"L.  A.  S.  H."  whispered  Ragnhild. 

"And  those  other  letters  underneath,"  con- 
tinued the  mother. 

"R.  S.  D.  H." 

"Do  you  know  what  they  mean?" 

"No." 

"  Ragnhild,  Ragnhild,"  exclaimed  the  mother, 
dropping  her  hand,  and  with  arms  akimbo  placing 
herself  right  in  front  of  the  culprit,  "  do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  do  not  know  the  names 
of  your  own  grandmother  and  grandfather  1 " 

Ragnhild  remained  silent. 

"  Then,"  continued  Ingeborg,  indignantly,  "  it  is 
high  time  that  you  should  know  them.  Those 
letters  above  stand  for  the  name  of  my  father, 
Lars  Atle's  Son  Henjum,  and  the  letters  under- 
ne<ath  stand  for  the  name  of  my  mother,  from 


230  GUNNAR. 


whom  you  were  called,  Ragnhild  Sigurd's  Daugh- 
ter Henjum.  It  is  strange  that  her  father's  name 
also  was  Sigurd.  For  now,  as  you  know,  those 
names  will  soon  again  be  united."  Ragnhild 
stared  in  hopeless  bewilderment  on  the  ominous 
letters,  as  if  but  dimly  divining  their  hidden 
meaning.  Seeing  that  she  had  failed  to  make 
herself  understood,  Ingeborg  quickly  drew  a  large 
bunch  of  keys  out  of  her  pocket,  and  opened 
the  three  chests.  Then  she  raised  the  covers, 
and  without  delay  disclosed  their  hidden  treas- 
ures. There  were  silver  spoons,  with  large  crowned 
balls  at  the  end  of  their  handles ;  curiously 
wrought  brooches  and  silver  breastplates  ;  a  fine, 
glittering  bridal  crown  (an  heirloom  from  imme- 
morial times) ;  heavy,  snow-white  linen  for  table- 
cloths, sheets,  and  female  apparel,  all  covered  with 
a  perfect  maze  of  elaborate  embroidery ;  skirts  and 
bodices  of  darker  and  brighter  colors  ;  and  numer- 
ous other  articles,  such  as  ancient  wealth  and 
family  pride  hoard  up  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion. While  the  widow  sat  deeply  engrossed  in 
the  contemplation  of  her  riches,  and  with  evi- 


RHYME-OLA'S  MESSAGE.  231 

dent  satisfaction  surveyed,  unfolded,  and  dis- 
played every  separate  article,  Eagnhild  stood 
still  aghast,  gazing  in  mute  astonishment.  Now 
and  then  her  features  lighted  up  for  a  moment 
at  the  sight  of  some  rich  garment  or  ornament, 
but  soon  again  were  overcast,  as  by  coming  evil. 
Having  finished  all  her  preparations,  Ingeborg 
beckoned  her  daughter  to  come  nearer. 

"Child,"  said  she,  passing  her  arm  round  the 
young  girl's  waist,  and  dropping  her  voice  into 
a  gentle  whisper,  "do  you  know  to  whom  all 
these  things  belong  1" 

"They  are   yours,"  murmured   Ragnhild. 

"  No,  child,  they  are  no  longer  mine.  I  have 
no  heir  but  you,  and  all  that  has  hitherto  been 
mine  is  now  to  be  yours."  And  she  raised  her 
head,  and  gazed  into  the  daughter's  countenance 
to  see  if  she  were  not  overpowered  by  such  a  pros- 
pect. But  Ragnhild's  features  betrayed  no  pleas- 
urable emotion  ;  a  shade  of  painful  disappointment 
flitted  over  the  mother's  face ;  she  ran  her  hand 
across  her  forehead,  and  stooped  forward  as  in 
deep  thought.  Then  suddenly  a  new  idea  struck 
her. 


232  GUNNAR. 


"Come,  child,"  said  she,  "let  me  see  how  this 
bridal  crown  will  fit  you.  It  is  a  beautiful  crown. 
I  have  worn  it  once  myself,  and  my  grandmother 
and  my  great-grandmother  before  me."  So  saying, 
she  placed  the  crown  on  Ragnhild's  sunny  head; 
the  latter  smiled  faintly,  and  mechanically  sub- 
mitted to  her  mothers  strange  freaks. 

"  And  then  this  bodice,  and  this  breastplate," 
cried  Ingeborg,  with  renewed  hope,  "  they  will 
fit  you  within  a  hair,  and  be  so  becoming." 
Ragnhild  made  no  motion  to  accept  the  proffered 
gifts  ;  she  stood  as  if  petrified. 

"Mother,"  said  she,  at  length,  "pray  tell  me, 
what  does  all  this  mean." 

"  What  does  it  mean  1 "  asked  the  widow,  as- 
tounded, dropping  the  breastplate  in  her  lap. 
"Well,  I  thought  you  were  old  enough  to  know 
what  it  means  to  put  on  a  bridal  crown.  How- 
ever, the  case  is  simply  this.  My  brother,  Atle 
Henjurn,  while  you  were  still  a  child,  asked  your 
hand  for  his  son  Lars.  To  me,  of  course,  noth- 
ing could  be  more  desirable  than  to  see  you, 
my  only  child,  so  honorably  matched  and  so 


RHYME-OLA S  MESSAGE.  233 

well  cared  for.  Therefore  I  gave  my  consent. 
It  was  this  I  wished  to  make  known  to  you 
to-day.  Atle  Henjum  has  been  here  this  morn- 
ing and  has  renewed  his  offer.  He  wishes  the 
wedding  to  take  place  soon,  and  I  have  long 
been  of  the  same  mind.  You  are  no  longer 
a  child  now,  but  a  grown  woman.  At  twenty 
I  was  married  myself,  and  it  is  my  belief 
that  that  is  the  right  age  to  marry." 

The  words  hummed  and  buzzed  in  Ragn- 
hild's  ears  ;  she  heard  them,  but  they  were  to 
her  only  so  many  sounds,  without  any  special 
import.  Now  they  seemed  to  come  floating 
from  far  away,  sometimes  to  ring  piercingly 
through  her  torpid  senses,  and  then  again  they 
receded  into  a  dim  distance.  She  marry  Lars 
Henjum  1  She  certainly  had  heard  some  par- 
ish talk  about  that  long  ago,  —  0  yes,  so  very 
long  ago,  she  thought  now  ;  for  the  idea  was 
as  strange  to  her  as  if  she  had  never  heard 
it.  And  Lars,  how  ugly  he  looked  to  her,  with 
his  broad,  ox-like  brow  and  dull,  staring  eyes ! 
And  her  thought  grasped  despairingly  for  Gun- 


234  GUNNAR. 


nar ;  for  in  all  the  fairy-winged  dreams  which 
had  risen  from  her  soul  in  the  summer  still- 
ness he  had  been  her  lord  and  hero. 

"Well,"  continued  Ingeborg,  having  still  re- 
ceived no  answer,  "  you  now  know  my  will.  It 
can  certainly  not  be  any  great  surprise  to  you. 
But  with  regard  to  the  time,  and  some  few  other 
things,  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  think." 

There  followed  another  long  painful  silence. 
Ingeborg  stared,  she  knit  her  brow  ;  a  deep 
crimson  shot  over  her  face,  even  up  to  her  head- 
gear. 

"  Ragnhild  Rimul,"  cried  she,  with  rising  in- 
dignation, "  if  you  have  so  far  forgotten  your 
birth  and  your  mother's  name  as  still  to  re- 
member that  wandering  beggar  and  vagabond, 
whose  shame  —  " 

"  0  mother  ! "  implored  the  girl,  and  burst  into 
tears.  But  the  widow,  —  she  clasped  her  hands 
over  her  forehead,  pressed  them  convulsively 
against  her  temples,  stooped  down  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  lap  ;  and  a  heavy,  struggling  moan 
was  the  last  farewell  to  a  mother's  life-hope. 


RHYME -OLA'S  MESSAGE.  235 

When  she  again  lifted  her  eyes,  Ragnhild  was 
gone. 

The  maids  wondered  much  that  day  what  had 
become  of  the  housewife.  They  searched  the 
house,  the  barns,  and  the  fields,  but  they  searched 
in  vain.  Toward  evening  they  found  her  again, 
sitting  in  her  accustomed  seat  at  the  south  win- 
dow, and  the  old  silver-clasped  Bible  lay  open 
before  her.  But  no  one  durst  ask  when  she 
came,  or  where  she  had  been.  She  glanced 
up  whenever  the  door-latch  moved,  then  again 
bent  over  her  Bible. 

What  were  your  thoughts  then,  Ingeborg  Ri- 
mul  1  Why  did  your  stately  figure  stoop,  as  you 
staggered  from  the  stabur  over  to  the  house, 
hardly  able  to  bear  the  burden  of  your  self- 
wrought  grief  1  And  when  you  opened  the 
Holy  Book  and  sat  down  to  read  its  well-known 
pages,  why  did  those  words,  given  to  console 
the  afflicted,  refuse  to  comfort  theel  Ah,  Inge- 
borg Rimul,  it  was  not  the  Word  of  God  that 
was  foremost  in  your  mind  that  night.  No,  you' 
remember  still  how  your  wayward  thoughts  wan- 


236  GVNNAR. 


dered  back  to  a  time  which  you  had  long  vainly 
striven  to  forget.  And  that  moonlit  summer 
night  returned  to  your  memory,  when  you  sat 
under  the  birch-tree  at  the  river,  and  your  golden 
head  rested  lovingly  on  his  bosom.  Ah,  if  he, 
—  if  Thoralf  Vogt  had  known  of  all  the  weary, 
sleepless  nights  that  followed  those  days  of  bliss ; 
if  he  could  have  counted  the  tears  that  flowed 
from  your  eyes,  Ingeborg  Rimul,  before  your  faith 
and  your  hopes  were  crushed, —  then,  you  thought, 
he  would  not  have  given  you  up  so  easily. 
But  you  have  changed  much  since  those  days. 
Then  your  faith  in  man  and  God  was  strong, 
for  you  loved  as  only  a  nature  like  yours  can 
love.  But,  as  T  say,  you  have  changed  much  ; 
now  you  think  you  can  repair  one  sin  by  add- 
ing to  it  another,  and  a  greater  one  :  you  sac- 
rificed your  own  happiness,  now  you  offer  upon 
the  same  altar  the  life  of  your  child,  Ragnhild, 
your  only  daughter. 


XIV. 

AT  THE  PARSONAGE. 

| HAT  should  she  do,  where  should  she 
go  1 "  These  were  Ragnhild's  first 
thoughts,  as,  after  a  short  flight  upward 
through  the  birch-grove,  she  sank  down  under  a 
large  drooping  tree,  hid  her  face  in  her  lap,  and 
wept  and  wept,  and  could  never  weep  out  her 
trouble,  for  the  more  she  wept  the  more  she 
felt  the  need  of  weeping.  And  the  slender  birch- 
boughs  waved  and  trembled;  then  a  faint  rust- 
ling would  steal  through  the  fluttering  leaves, 
as  if  the  tree  were  trying  to  hush  its  own  emo- 
tion. Hard  by  stood  a  steep,  half  moss-grown 
rock,  over  which  the  water  came  trickling  down 
in  slow,  strange,  forest-like  silence  ;  and  a  clear 
pool  underneath  peered  upward  with  its  calm 
gaze.  But  Ragnhild  wept,  —  wept  until  the  tears 


'238  GUNNAR. 


dimmed  even  her  grief,  and  she  at  last  hardly 
knew  why  she  was  weeping.  Her  thoughts  had 
wandered  far  that  day,  no  wonder  they  were  weary. 
Hush  !  what  a  song-rich  soul  has  the  northern 
forest !  And  its  life  itself,  —  what  a  full-swelling 
tide  of  melody !  But  that  was  not  the  voice  of 
the  forest.  She  raised  her  head,  wondered  and 
listened.  A  strange,  soft  crooning  seemed  to 
grow  out  of  the  silence,  and  then  fade  into  silence 
again.  Suddenly  the  thought  of  trolds  and  elf- 
maidens  flashed  through  her  mind.  She  sprang 
up  and  ran,  until  she  plainly  heard  somebody  call- 
ing her  name.  She  paused  and  looked  timidly 
around.  There  sat  Rhyme-Ola  upon  the  rock, 
swinging  his  ragged  hat  in  one  hand,  and  a 
bundle  of  papers  in  the  other.  It  was  plainly 
the  papers  he  wished  her  to  see ;  for  as  she 
hesitated,  he  flung  his  hat  away,  and  again 
-waved  them  towards  her. 

"Ragnhild,"  cried  he,  "was  it  not  what  I 
always  used  to  say  1 " 

Ragnhild  took  a  few  steps  toward  the  pool, 
smoothed  her  hair,  and  washed  off  the  marks 


AT   THE  PARSONAGE.  239 

of  her  tears  ;  then  by  the  aid  of  a  small  birch 
and  some  juniper-bushes,  climbed  the  rock  to 
where  Rhyme-Ola  was  standing. 

"  It  was  the  very  thing  I  have  always  said, 
Ragnhild,"  repeated  he,  as  if  he  were  taking 
up  the  thread  of  a  conversation  which  had  been 
broken  off  a  minute  ago. 

"  What  is  it  you  have  always  been  saying, 
Rhyme-Ola  V  asked  Ragnhild,  astonished,  as, 
flushed  and  panting,  she  gained  the  singer's  lofty 
haunt. 

"  Take  a  seat,  make  yourself  at  home,"  said 
he ;  "I  am  going  to  tell  you  all  about  it." 

She  dropped  down  upon  a  stone  and  sat  look- 
ing expectantly  into  his  face. 

"You  remember,"  resumed  the  other,  "how 
often  I  used  to  say  that  the  valley  would  hear 
of  him  when  they  least  expected  it." 

Ragnhild  had  no  recollection  of  such  a  proph- 
ecy on  the  part  of  Rhyme-Ola,  but,  hardly 
knowing  what 'he  meant,  she  answered  musing- 
ly, "0  —  yes  "  ;  then,  suddenly  throwing  herself 
forward,  added  in  breathless  haste,  "And  what 
have  they  heard  of  him,  Rhyme-Ola  ?" 


240  GUNNAR. 


"  Look  here,  Ragnhild,"  cried  her  companion, 
gayly,  "  if  you  have  not  heard  strange  things 
before,  you  may  be  sure  you  will  hear  them 
now.  It  was  only  what  I  always  said  ;  but 
nobody  would  believe  me,  not  even  you,  Ragn- 
hild." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  do  believe  you,"  exclaimed  the 
girl,  impatiently.  "  Only  pray  tell ;  what  is  it 
you  have  heard  1 " 

Rhyme-Ola  took  one  of  the  papers  he  held  in 
his  hand,  unfolded  it,  and  handed  it  to  Ragnhild. 

"You  will  find  something  there,"  said  he; 
"  I  can't  read,  you  know,  so  I  can't  tell  you 
where  it  is.  The  pastor  told  me  it  was  there. 
He  gave  me  the  papers  yesterday,  and  I  prom- 
ised him  to  carry  them  to  the  judge  for  him; 
for  they  two  keep  the  papers  together.  But  I 
have  been  keeping  them  to  show  them  to  you, 
Ragnhild,  for  I  knew  that,  next  to  myself,  there 
was  nobody  in  the  valley  who  would  care  more 
to  see  it." 

She  did  not  seem  quite  to  catch  his  mean- 
ing;  she  opened  her  mouth,  and  the  question 


AT  THE  PARSONAGE.  241 

she  was  about  to  ask  —  well,  she  did  not  ex- 
actly forget  it,  but  it  just  vanished  on  her  lips, 
and  she  did  not  know  what  had  become  of  it. 
So  she  sat  there  only  gazing  on  Rhyme-Ola,  but 
said  not  a  word. 

"Well,  well,  Ragnhild,"  said  he,  visibly  dis- 
appointed, "  if  you  don't  care  to  read  it,  I  am 
sure  I  sha'  n't  urge  you."  And  he  reached  his 
hand  out  to  take  the  paper  back  again ;  but 
she  snatched  it,  then  sprang  up,  and  down  she 
ran  over  the  steep  hillside,  so  loose  earth  and 
bowlders  came  rumbling  after  in  her  track. 

"Ragnhild,  Ragnhild,  don't  you  hear,  it  is 
the  pastor's  paper,"  cried  Rhyme-Ola.  A  heavy 
bowlder  with  a  fierce  rush  dashed  against  a  huge- 
stemmed  fir.  That  was  all  the  answer  he  got. 
A  minute  after  he  saw  her  light  figure  vanish 
in  the  dense  birch  copse  below. 

Since  the  time  of  her  confirmation,  Ragnhild 
no  longer  slept  in  her  mother's  room.  Up  stairs 
in  the  eastern  gable  of  the  house,  a  little  cham- 
ber had  been  fitted  up  for  her,  and  a  very  pretty 
chamber  it  was.  It  was  five  years  now  since 
11  p 


242  GUNNAR. 


she  was  confirmed,  and  still  the  girlish  pride  she 
took  in  her  little  bower  was  as  fresh  as  the  first 
day  she  entered  it.  She  had  spent  so  many 
happy  hours  up  there.  The  furniture  was  per- 
haps scanty  enough ;  but  it  was  all,  if  not  more 
than  she  required.  Near  the  door  stood  the 
large  painted  chest  in  which  she  kept  her  ward- 
robe ;  then  a  bed  in  the  wall,  which,  however, 
no  one  could  see,  unless  when  the  trap-door 
was  opened  through  which  she  entered  it ;  but 
the  door  was  generally  open,  and  the  snow-white 
sheets,  the  sheepskins,  and  the  rag  blankets 
which  Ragnhild  herself  had  woven  were  always 
in  such  perfect  order  that  she  hardly  would 
mind,  if  you  stepped  near  and  took  a  look  at 
it.  The  walls,  which  had  retained  the  natural 
tint  of  the  wood,  were  decorated  with  a  small 
looking-glass,  a  colored  print  of  Prince  Gustaf, 
and  the  following  verses  painted  in  red  letters, 
one  at  the  head  and  the  other  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed  :  — 

"•May  the  good  God  look  on  me, 
Keep  my  sleep  from  evil  free ; 


AT  THE  PARSONAGE.  243 

Cleanse  my  soul  from  sin  and  shame  ; 
So  I  sleep  in  Jesus'  name. 

"Thou  hast  waked  me,  God,  from  sleep j 
Thou  this  day  my  feet  wilt  keep. 
Glad  to  labor  I  arise, 
Under  thy  protecting  eyes." 

When  Ragnhild  woke  up  the  next  morning, 
her  first  thought  was  the  newspaper,  which  she 
had  hid  under  her  pillow;  but  the  wish  she 
made  when  she  did  it,  she  would  not  for  any 
prize  have  told  to  living  mortal.  She  again 
examined  the  paper,  read  the  article  through, 
word  for  word,  to  assure  herself  that  it  was  all 
true,  and  that  she  had  not  merely  dreamed  it. 
The  words  "  art "  and  "  artist "  struck  her  singu- 
larly; Gunnar  was  an  artist,  it  said.  What  was 
an  artist  1  She  had  some  faint  notion  that  his 
pictures  might  have  something  to  do  with  it, 
in  fact,  she  knew  they  had;  but  the  word  was 
strange  to  her,  and  she  had  no  very  definite  idea 
of  what  it  meant.  She  rose  and  went  with  one 
of  the  maids  to  the  cow-stable  to  milk  the  two 
cows  they  kept  on  the  home-pasture,  then  helped 


244  GUNNAR. 


in  scouring  the  milk-pails;  but  still  the  word 
"  artist "  haunted  her,  and  would  let  her  have  no 
peace.  She  must  find  out  what  an  artist  meant. 
Suppose  she  asked  Thor  Henjumhei1?  No,  that 
would  never  do ;  he  might  suspect  more  than  she 
wished  to  betray.  But  the  old  pastor,  —  he  was 
the  very  man  ;  learned  was  he,  so  he  would  be 
likely  to  know,  and  a  better  man  to  come  to 
in  trouble  there  never  was.  It  never  had  hap- 
pened before  that  Ragnhild  had  forgot  her  work 
or  left  it  half  done ;  but  this  morning  it  did 
happen.  Ingeborg  opened  her  eyes  wide,  when 
she  saw  her  spring  out  of  the  gate  with  her 
Sunday  skirt  and  bodice  on,  and  lightly  dance 
down  the  hillside  towards  the  river.  "Well, 
well,"  muttered  she,  glancing  at  the  half-scoured 
milk-pails  on  the  hearth-stone,  "  if  that  'were  what 
7  had  taught  my  daughter !  But  when  one 
stone  loosens  and  rolls,  then  the  whole  heap 
will  be  sure  to  follow.  Alas ! "  added  she,  with 
a  sigh,  "I  am  afraid  that  child  will  do  me  but 
little  honor." 

It  was  a  clear,  sunny  summer  morning.      In 


AT   THE  PARSONAGE.  245 

the  pastor's  study  windows  and  doors  were 
thrown  wide  open,  and  the  sunshine  glinted 
through  the  blooming  apple-trees  in  the  orchard 
into  the  little  room,  where  the  worthy  clergy- 
man sat  at  his  desk  poring  over  some  documents 
connected  with  the  poor-fund  or  some  other 
equally  distracting  matter.  Again  and  again  he 
allowed  his  pipe  to  go  out,  turned  the  papers 
over  and  over,  and  scratched  his  head  in  a  kind 
of  comic  despair  whenever  a  new  difficulty  pre- 
sented itself. 

A  slight  knock  at  the  door  called  the  pastor's 
attention  from  his  papers;  he  glanced  up,  and 
saw  a  fair  young  maiden  standing  in  the  hall 
waiting  to  be  admitted.  He  rubbed  his  glasses, 
put  them  on  his  nose,  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Ah,  Ragnhild  Rimul ! "  cried  he,  agreeably 
surprised.  "  Come  in,  my  child.  You  are  very 
welcome.  You  do  not  at  all  disturb  me ;  you 
need  have  no  fear  of  that.  Come  in.  How  is 
your  good  mother?" 

Ragnhild  in  the  mean  time,  after  having  made 
a  deep  courtesy  to  the  pastor,  had  found  a  chair 


246  GUNNAR. 


at  the  door,  where  she  sat  down,  modestly  look- 
ing on  the  floor  without  saying  a  word. 

"And  your  good  mother  is  well,  my  child?" 
repeated  the  old  man.  Ragnhild  stammered 
something  to  the  effect  that  her  good  mother, 
when  she  saw  her  last,  was  enjoying  her  usual 
good  health.  The  pastor  expressed  his  gratifi- 
cation at  so  desirable  a  state  of  affairs,  and 
hoped  that  the  daughter  also  was  enjoying  the 
same  blessing.  Now,  here  was  a  chance  for  in- 
troducing her  question,  but  Ragnhild  felt  so 
bashful  and  embarrassed  that  she  could  do  noth- 
ing but  twirl  and  twist  the  corners  of  her  apron, 
and  hardly  knew  herself  what  she  wanted  to 
say.  Indeed,  she  had  talked  frankly  with  the 
kind  old  man  so  many  a  time  before,  and  had 
never  felt  the  least  hesitation.  She  had  always 
had  the  most  unbounded  reverence  for  him,  and 
had  been  used  to  think  that,  next  to  God,  there 
was  none  who  knew  more  than  he.  To-day  was 
the  first  time  she  had  anything  she  wished  to 
hide  from  him ;  and  it  was  this  which  made  her 
heart  sink,  as  her  eyes  met  his.  In  this  minute 


AT  THE  PARSONAGE.  247 

she  had  a  vague  sensation  that  he  already  must 
have  discovered  her  secret,  and  she  was  ashamed 
of  herself  for  ever  having  wished  to  keep  it  from 
him.  He  saw  her  embarrassment,  and  tried  to 
come  to  her  assistance  ;  but  she  heard  nothing  of 
what  he  said.  Then  he  also  was  silent,  and  al- 
though she  still  sat  gazing  on  the  floor,  she  could 
feel  his  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  her.  She  must 
speak.  And  she  summoned  all  her  courage,  gave 
her  apron  a  desperate  twist,  and,  in  a  voice  half 
choked  by  the  tears,  suddenly  broke  out :  — 

"  Would  n't  father  please  tell  me  what  it  means 
to  be  an  artist  ? " 

And  with  a  powerful  effort  she  swallowed  her 
tears  and  tried  to  look  unconcerned. 

"What  it  means  to  be  an  artist V  said  the 
pastor,  with  ill-concealed  astonishment.  "My 
dear  child,  what  have  you  got  to  do  with  artists  1" 

"Well,  I  just  wished  to  know,"  answered  she, 
boldly,  but  pressed  her  hands  against  the  chair, 
and  set  her  teeth  firmly  the  moment  she  had 
spoken  ;  for,  in  spite  of  the  warmth,  they  seemed 
alarmingly  disposed  to  clatter. 


248  GUNNAR. 


"An  artist?  Well,  to  be  an  artist  is  to  be 
engaged  in  the  study  of  Art,  whether  it  be  Ar- 
chitecture or  Music  or  —  But  perhaps  you 
will  have  some  difficulty  in  understanding  — " 

Ragnhild  certainly  had  difficulty  in  understand- 
ing, which  he,  in  fact,  did  not  wonder  at.  And 
mistrusting  his  own  information  on  the  subject, 
he  arose,  pulled  a  large  volume  of  his  Encyclo- 
paedia out  from  the  bookcase,  and  without  further 
introduction  began  to  read.  But  one  regiment 
of  big  words  marched  up,  followed  by  another 
of  still  more  promising  dimensions,  until  at  last 
even  the  pastor  despaired,  and  shut  the  book  in 
disgust.  Having  put  it  back  in  its  place,  he  went 
up  to  Ragnhild,  stopped  in  front  of  her,  and 
looked  at  her  in  wonder. 

"My  dearest  child,"  said  he,  tenderly,  "if  you 
are  in  trouble  or  distress,  be  assured  that  I  shall 
be  glad  to  do  anything  in  my  power  to  help 
you.  You  know  you  can  trust  me,  child,  do  you 
notr 

That  was  .too  much  for  a  poor  overburdened 
heart.  "Father,"  cried  she,  "I  am  so  unhappy," 


AT  THE  PARSONAGE.  249 

and  a  shower  of  tears  nearly  choked  the  confes- 
sion, "  I  love  Gunnar  so  much.  I  always  did 
love  him.  But  mother  does  n't  like  him,  and 
she  calls  him  a  beggar  and  a  vagabond,  and  that 
hurts  me  so  much.  For  you  know  he  is  no  vaga- 
bond, father,  and  not  a  beggar  either." 

"  Yes,  dearest  child,  I  know.  A  nobler  and 
worthier  youth  our  parish  never  bore." 

"  That  was  what  the  paper  said  too,"  sobbed 
she,  — "  and  then  it  cannot  be  a  sin  to  love 
him,  can  it,  father  V 

The  pastor  made  no  answer.  She  stayed  her 
weeping,  and  lifted  her  tear-filled  eyes  on  him 
imploringly.  It  was  not  in  his  power  to  resist. 

"  No,  child,"  said  he,  warmly,  "  it  is  no  sin  to 
love.  And,"  added  he,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"  if  ever  a  youth  was  worthy  of  a  maiden's  love, 
he  is." 

"  0,  thank  you,  father  !  "  cried  she,  "  for  that 
was  the  truest  word  — 

"  Your  mouth  ever  uttered,"  was  what  she  was 
about  to  say,  but  suddenly  remembering  that  that 
would  not  be  a  proper  thing  to  say  to  her  pastor, 
11* 


250  GUNNAR. 


she  restrained  her  joy,  and  after  some  hesitation 
continued  :  "I  was  so  afraid  that  I  might  be 
wrong !  but  now,  when  I  know  that  you  also  think 
what  my  love  for  him  had  early  taught  me  to 
think,  I  shall  nevermore  be  in  doubt  —  And  if 
you  would  please  tell  my  mother  so,  she  would 
also  learn  to  think  differently,  for  she  would 
believe  you,  father,  although  she  would  no  one 
else." 

The  pastor  folded  his  hands  on  his  back  under 
his  dressing-gown,  and  began  walking  briskly  up 
and  down  on  the  floor.  There  was  no  denying 
that  his  sympathy  for  the  poor  girl  was  strong 
and  heartfelt  ;  and  he  now  suddenly  discovered 
that  he  had  allowed  his  warm  heart  to  run  away 
with  his  judgment.  Of  course,  he  was  not  igno- 
rant of  the  Henjum  and  Rimul  marriage-scheme, 
and  even  if  he  had  been,  it  would  be  unpardon- 
able in  him,  as  a  minister,  to  encourage  a  daugh- 
ter to  rebel  against  her  mother's  wish.  "  Alas  ! " 
sighed  he,  "I  always  find  myself  running  into 
this  kind  of  scrapes.  How  often  shall  I  suffer 
before  I  learn  1  And  what  is  now  to  be  done  ? " 


AT   THE  PARSONAGE.  251 

A  thought  struck  him.  Ragrihild  was  well  versed 
in  her  catechism  ;  he  could  refer  to  no  higher  au- 
thority. So  he  stopped  again  before  her.  "  Thou 
shalt  honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother,"  said  he, 
slowly  and  solemnly,  "  that  it  may  go  well  with 
thee,  and  thou  shalt  long  live  in  the  land." 

This  done,  he  again  resumed  his  walk,  and,  hav- 
ing found  a  new  argument,  again  stopped. 

"  He  that  honoreth  not  father  and  mother  —  " 

His  eye  met  a  sweet,  puzzled  look  in  her  inno- 
cent face,  and  he  had  not  the  heart  to  go  on. 
Then  a  faint  smile  flitted  over  her  features,  for 
her  quick  eye  had  already  told  her  where  his  sym- 
pathies were  in  spite  of  the  stern  words  of  the 
law.  It  is  indeed  inconceivable  where  she  found 
the  courage  to  say  what  she  did  say,  and  she  often 
thought  so  herself  afterwards,  but  as  the  answer 
came  to  her,  she  had  already  uttered  it  before  she 
had  time  for  a  second  thought. 

"  Thou  shalt  obey  God,"  faltered  she,  "  rather 
than  men."  It  struck  him  singularly  to  have  the 
ignorant  peasant-girl  meet  him  so  promptly  on 
his  own  ground.  It  was  now  his  turn  to  look  puz- 


252  GUNNAR. 


zled.  He  dropped  down  in  an  easy-chair  at  the 
desk,  laid  his  hand  on  his  forehead,  and  sat  long 
as  if  in  deep  thought.  Ragnhild,  fearing  her 
presence  might  be  unwelcome  to  him,  arose  and 
walked  toward  the  door. 

"  I  hope  you  wrill  excuse  me  if  I  have  disturbed 
you,  father,"  said  she  ;  "  farewell." 

"  Stay,  child,  stay,"  demanded  he,  without 
changing  his  attitude.  And  she  remained  stand- 
ing at  the  door,  looking  at  him,  and  wondering 
what  he  could  be  thinking.  And  the  silence  lasted 
a  long  while,  until  at  length  she  feared  he  had 
forgotten  her  altogether.  She  took  a  few  steps 
toward  the  writing-desk,  made  a  deep  courtesy, 
and  said  :  — 

"  Father,  I  think  my  mother  will  miss  me  if  I 
stay  longer." 

Then  he  arose,  grasped  the  hand  she  reached 
him,  and  with  warmth  and  earnestness  said  :  — 

"  Ragnhild,  if  you  have  failed  to  get  the  help 
and  the  advice  you  might  justly  expect  from  me, 
as  your  pastor,  you  will  not  think  that  it  has  been 
from  any  unwillingness  on  my  part,  or  from  indif- 


AT   THE  PARSONAGE.  253 

ference  to  your  welfare.  Perhaps  it  rather  was 
because  I  felt  too  much  for  you  both.  But  the 
matter  you  have  mentioned  to  me  to-day  is  one  in 
which  no  human  helper  will  avail  you.  Therefore 
pray  to  God  that  he  will  help  you,  and  act  then 
in  accordance  with  what  your  own  conscience  tells 
you  to  be  his  will,  and  you  will  never  go  astray. 
And  now,  child,  may  God  bless  you  !  Farewell !  " 

Ragnhild  would  have  thanked  the  old  man  if 
she  had  been  able.  As  it  was,  she  could  only  fal- 
ter a  faint  farewell,  and  hurry  out  into  the  clear, 
sun-teeming  morning.  He  went  to  the  window, 
lit  his  pipe  for  the  twentieth  time,  and  saw  her 
skipping  down  the  road  past  the  little  white  church, 
until  the  forest  and  the  distance  hid  her  from 
his  sight. 

"Ah,  yes,  yes,"  murmured  he,  "it  is  the  old, 
old  story." 


XV. 


THE   RETURN. 

E  who  has  seen  the  bird  of  passage 
only  in  a  comparatively  southern  lati- 
tude, can  form  no  idea  of  the  wildness 
of  rapture  with  which  it  hails  its  return  to  that 
far  land  where  the  blooming  meadow  and  the 
eternal  glacier  lie  basking  together  in  the  wealth 
of  the  summer  day,  and  where  the  forest  breathes 
its  fairy  life  under  the  burning  dream  of  the 
midnight  sun.  To  the  minds  of  many  the  name 
of  Norway  suggests  a  picture  of  winter-clothed 
pines  and  far-reaching  snow-fields,  with  little  or 
no  relief  from  the  influences  of  the  gentler  sea- 
sons ;  and  still,  strange  as  the  assertion  may 
sound,  Norway  is  peculiarly  the  "Land  of  Sum- 
mer." There  is  no  doubt  that  the  birds  at  least 
think  so,  and  their  testimony  is  likely  to  be 


THE  RETURN.  255 


trustworthy.  And  he  who  stands  in  the  glory 
of  the  morning  in  the  heart  of  one  of  the  bloom- 
ing fjord  valleys,  hears  the  thousand-voiced  chorus 
of  the  valley's  winged  songsters  welling  down 
over  him  from  the  birch  glen  overhead,  sees  the 
swift,  endless  color-play  of  the  sun-smitten  glaci- 
ers, the  calm,  lucid  depth  of  the  air-clear  fjord, 
and  the  trembling  frailty  of  the  birch-bough  un- 
der the  sturdy  strength  of  the  fir,  —  ah !  he 
whose  gaze  has  but  once  dwelt  upon  all  this  will 
need  no  other  persuasion  than  that  of  his  own 
eye  to  unite  in  the  song  of  the  thrush  and  the 
cuckoo  and  the  fieldfare  about  the  peerless  beauty 
of  Norway's  summer.  It  is  not  heat  that  makes 
summer;  its  life  is  of  a  far  subtler  and  more 
ethereal  essence.  Who  knows  but  the  glacier 
itself  may  do  its  share  toward  intensifying  this 
life,  or  at  least  our  own  perception  of  if?  For 
the  white,  snow-peaked  background,  with  its 
remote  breath  of  winter,  grazing  the  horizon 
of  the  mind,  sets  summer  off  into  stronger  and 
bolder  relief.  And  if  the  bird  feels  and  rejoices 
in  this,  how  much  more  should  the  artist ! 


256  GUNNAR. 


It  was  just  on  one  of  these  wondrous  summer 
mornings  that  Gunnar,  after  more  than  three 
years'  absence,  saw  his  native  valley  again.  He 
and  his  friend  Vogt  had  arrived  the  evening  be- 
fore at  a  little  fishing-place  on  the  other  side 
of  the  fjord,  and  had  immediately  engaged  a 
couple  of  boatmen  to  carry  them  over.  Already 
the  sun  stood  high ;  it  was  about  five  o'clock. 
The  boat  shot  in  through  the  fjord,  gliding  swift- 
ly over  the  glittering  bays,  in  which  rushing 
mountain  streams  mingled  their  noisy  life  with 
the  great  stillness,  and  forest-clothed  rocks  and 
headlands  stood  peering  forth  through  the  morn- 
ing mist,  which  still  hung  in  a  kind  of  musing 
uncertainty  along  the  shore,  while  the  fjord  lay 
wondering  at  the  endless  caprices  of  glaciers  and 
sunshine.  A  few  stray  sea-gulls  kept  sailing  in 
widening  circles  round  some  favorite  fishing- 
haunt,  calmly  judging  of  the  prospects  of  the 
day,  and  now  and  then  with  slow  deliberation 
grazing  the  surface  of  the  water,  as  if  to  con- 
vince themselves  that  it  was  not  ether,  but  the 
veritable  element  of  the  cod  and  herring.  Silent 


THE  RETURN.  257 


families  of  loons  and  eider-ducks  rocked  on  the 
motionless  deep,  but  vanished  quick  as  thought 
when  the  boat  approached. 

They  were  already  in  sight  of  the  Henjum 
shore,  when  the  scream  of  a  gull  awaked  Gunnar 
from  the  delightful  revery  in  which  he  had  been 
indulging.  He  had  been  sitting  so  long,  look- 
ing down  into  the  fjord,  that  for  a  moment  he 
was  quite  confused,  and  hardly  knew  whether 
to  seek  the  real  heavens  above  or  below.  Now 
he  stood  erect  in  the  stern,  and  with  a  bosom 
swelling  with  hope  and  joy  saw  the  dear  scenes 
of  his  childhood  emerging  from  the  fog  and  the 
distance,  and  smiling  to  him  in  the  full  light  of 
morning.  There  was  no  denying  that  he  had 
changed  considerably  in  the  three  years  he  had 
been  away.  The  cut  of  the  features  is  of  course 
the  same ;  the  strength  of  contour  in  chin  and 
brow  are  perhaps  even  more  prominent  than 
before ;  while  at  the  same  time  the  lines  of  the 
face  seem  refined  and  softened  into  a  clear, 
manly  expression.  That  dreamy  vacancy  in  his 
eyes  which  had  once  distressed  his  grandmother 

Q 


.258  GUNNAR. 


so  much  is  now  supplanted  by  the  fire  of  lofty 
purpose  and  enthusiasm ;  but  the  confident  open- 
ness, which  to  Ragnhild's  mind  had  been  the 
chief  characteristic  of  the  Gunnar  who  went, 
she  should  not  seek  in  vain  in  the  Gunuar  who 
had  now  come  back  to  seek  her.  The  city  dress, 
which  at  the  request  of  his  friends  he  had  assumed 
on  entering  the  Academy,  would,  at  least  in  the 
eyes  of  the  parishioners,  by  an  added  dignity 
more  than  compensate  for  its  undeniable  inferiority 
in  picturesqueness.  However,  the  broad -brimmed 
Panama  hat  and  the  large  traditional  artist  neck- 
erchief gave  him  a  certain  air  of  brisk  activity, 
which  accorded  well  with  his  general  bearing, 
even  if  the  light  summer  jacket  and  city-cut 
pantaloons  did  not  show  the  plastic  shape  of 
the  limbs  to  the  same  advantage  as  the  national 
knee-breeches  of  the  valley. 

Vogt,  Gunnar's  friend,  was  a  great  patriot. 
And  as  he  often  used  to  say  himself,  no  one 
can  be  a  good  patriot  without  loving  the  nature 
of  his  country,  or,  in  fact,  all  nature  both  in  his 
own  country  and  elsewhere.  But  as  long  as  we 


THE  RETURN.  259 


are  all  flesh  and  blood,  weariness  has  also  its 
claim  upon  us,  and  even  Vogt,  in  spite  of  his 
patriotism,  had  for  once  been  obliged  to  recog- 
nize this  claim.  For  sleep  is  rare  on  foot-jour- 
neys, and  has  to  be  taken  at  odd  intervals,  when- 
ever an  opportunity  presents  itself.  Thus  it 
happened  that  Vogt  at  this  moment  lay  stretched 
out  on  a  blanket  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
and  slept,  quite  regardless  of  his  companion's 
rapture  and  the  beauty  of  the  morning.  Now 
the  rowers  drew  up  their  dripping  oars,  while 
one  of  them  sprang  forward  to  ward  off  the 
shock  against  the  pier.  Gunnar  seized  a  rope, 
which  hung  from  the  flag-pole,  and  with  a  leap 
swung  himself  up.  Vogt,  who  had  just  been 
forcibly  recalled  to  consciousness,  chose  the  safer 
method  of  climbing  the  staircase.  He  was  a 
tall,  slender  youth  of  twenty,  with  a  fine  open 
countenance  bearing  the  marks  of  earnest  appli- 
cation and  hard  study;  he  wore  spectacles,  and 
the  traditional  Norwegian  college  cap,  with  its 
Minerva  cockade  and  the  long  silk  tassel.  His 
complexion  was  perhaps  a  little  paler  and  his 


260  GUNNAR 


hair  a  little  darker  than  is  common  among  Norse- 
men. Gunnar  had  already  climbed  more  than 
half-way  up  the  slope  of  the  Henjuni  fields  be- 
fore Vogt  could  find  a  chance  to  speak  to  him. 
For,  although  the  collegian  strode  along  at  his 
highest  speed,  he  had  not  yet  overtaken  Gun- 
nar, and  would  probably  not  have  done  so,  if 
the  artist  had  not  at  this  point  found  some- 
thing which  peculiarly  arrested  his  attention. 

"Vogt,"  cried  he  to  his  panting  friend,  "there 
you  see  the  twin  firs." 

"  The  —  twin  —  firs,"  repeated  Vogt  rather  hes- 
itatingly, but  then  suddenly  correcting  himself. 
"  0  yes !  I  should  have  imagined  them  to  look 
somewhat  like  those.  What  majestic  crowns  !  " 

Gunnar  made  no  reply,  but  seemed  to  take 
great  delight  in  the  twin  firs. 

"  Most  extraordinary  growth,"  suggested  Vogt ; 
"and  that  little  bench  between  the  two  trunks, 
don't  you  think  it  peculiarly  invites  to  rest1? 
What  if  we  accepted  the  invitation  1 " 

"  No ;  really,  you  would  do  me  a  favor  if  you 
would  try  to  walk  a  little  farther.  My  home 
is  only  a  short  distance  from  here." 


THE  RETURN.  261 


And  on  they  marched;  but  having  arrived  at 
the  Henjum  gate,  Vogt's  strength  gave  out  so 
entirely  that  he  had  to  sit  down  in  the  grass 
at  the  wayside  and  implore  his  fellow-traveller, 
in  the  Hulder's  name,  to  save  the  last  atom  of 
breath  which  was  still  at  his  disposal.  Gunnar 
had  again  to  check  his  impatience,  and  flung 
himself  down  at  his  friend's  side. 

"  Vogt,"  exclaimed  he,  suddenly,  pointing  across 
the  river,  "  do  you  see  that  cluster  of  houses  on 
the  hillside  yonder,  right  under  the  edge  of  the 
forest  1  Do  you  know  what  that  place  is  called  1 " 

"  Perhaps  I  might  guess,"  replied  Vogt  with  a 
quiet  smile ;  "  if  I  am  not  much  mistaken,  they 
have  hitherto  borne  the  name  of  Rimul." 

"  How  the  sun  glitters  in  the  long  row  of  win- 
dows ;  just  as  it  used  to  do  of  old,  when  I  came 
wandering  up  those  hills  from  the  river !  " 

"  Sunshine  is  a  good  omen,"  answered  the  col- 
legian, "especially  when  it  proceeds —  But  by 
your  immortal  Hulder  ! "  (this  had  of  late  become 
Vogt's  favorite  oath,)  "  who  is  that  sunny-haired 
creature  who  is  coming  there  1  Charming  !  Now 


262  GUNNAR. 


be  on  your  guard,  Henjumhei,  for  our  adventures 
are  fairly  commencing." 

Gunnar  looked  aside,  and  immediately  recog- 
nized Gudrun ;  she  was  carrying  two  well-filled 
milk-pails  from  the  stables  over  toward  the  sta- 
bur,  or  store-house,  which,  according  to  Norse 
custom,  was  built  along  the  wayside.  Vogt  in  an 
instant  was  on  his  feet  and  ran  to  meet  her.  She, 
seeing  him,  put  her  milk-pails  down,  shaded  her 
eyes  with  her  hand,  and  viewed  him  with  un- 
feigned curiosity. 

"  My  fairest  maiden,"  exclaimed  he,  bowing  in 
the  most  courteous  manner,  "  you  certainly  over- 
tax yourself  in  trying  to  carry  those  heavy  pails. 
Would  you  not  have  the  kindness  to  permit  me  to 
assist  you  1 " 

Gudrun's  eyes  widened  not  a  little  while  she 
listened  to  this  speech,  and  having  with  a  second 
glance  assured  herself  of  the  harmlessness  of 
the  man,  the  absurdity  of  his  proposition  struck 
her  so  forcibly  that  she  could  no  longer  contain 
herself,  but  burst  out  into  a  hearty  laugh,  which 
was  echoed  from  behind  the  fence  at  the  wayside. 


THE  RETURN.  263 


Vogt,  who  had  imagined  his  deportment  the  very 
perfection  of  gallantry,  looked  utterly  mystified. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  stammered  he.  "  I 
meant  no  offence." 

"  Offence  !  "  cried  Gudrun,  checking  her  laugh- 
ter, "  who  is  talking  of  offence  ?  And  if  you  are 
so  anxious  to  carry  those  milk-pails,  I  am  sure  I 
shall  not  prevent  you." 

If  Gudrun  had  been  shy  in  her  childhood,  she 
certainly  must  be  credited  with  having  now  over- 
come that  trait  in  her  character  ;  for  there  was 
little  of  shyness  in  the  way  she  harnessed  the 
young  man  up  in  the  yoke,  hitched  the  milk-pails 
on  the  hooks,  and  marched  him  over  to  the  sta- 
bur.  But  then,  she  had  now  been  taught  for 
twenty  years  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  Atle 
Henjum,  and  need  riot  be  afraid  of  anybody. 

Having,  after  some  difficulties,  gained  the  sta- 
bur  and  successfully  landed  his  burden  on  the 
steps,  Vogt,  in  the  agreeable  excitement  of  ad- 
venture, seated  himself  on  the  threshold  of  the 
door  and  tried  to  open  a  conversation  with  his  fair 
unknown. 


264  GUNNAR. 


"  I  supposed  all  young  maidens  stayed  on  the 
saeter  during  the  summer  months,"  said  he. 

"  0  no,  not  all !  "  replied  Gudrun,  coming  out 
from  the  stabur  with  a  huge  wooden  bowl  filled 
with  milk.  "  Would  you  not  like  to  drink  a 
cup  of  milk  1  I  don't  know  if  you  like  it  fresh. 
This  has  just  been  strained." 

"  Thanks,  a  thousand  thanks  !  I  like  it  just  this 
way,"  cried  he,  delighted,  putting  the  bowl  to  his 
mouth  ;  "  but,"  added  he,  removing  it,  "  would  n't 
you  pledge  me  first  ?  I  am  sure  it  would  taste 
much  better  then."  She  laughed,  drank,  and 
handed  him  back  the  bowl,  whereupon,  having 
marked  the  place  her  lips  had  touched,  he  greed- 
ily attacked  it.  "  You  have  not  been  staying  at 
the  saeter  this  summer,  then  1 "  resumed  he,  rising 
to  return  her  the  empty  bowl. 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  have.  But  my  cousin  Ragn- 
hild  and  I  take  turns  at  it,  and  stay  at  home 
every  other  week.  Her  week  will  be  out  on  Sun- 
day, and  then  comes  my  turn  again." 

"Your  cousin  Ragnhild  T'  repeated  Vogt,  as- 
tonished. 


THE  RETURN.  265 


"  Yes  j  perhaps  you  know  her  ? " 

"  I  have  heard  of  her.  And  then  your  name  is 
probably  Gudrun." 

"  Yes  ;  how  do  you  know  1  Who  told  you  1 
Do  you  come  from  the  capital  1  Yes,  of  course 
you  do.  And  perhaps  you  have  heard  of  a  young- 
lad  from  our  parish,  Gunnar  Henjumhei  by  name, 
who  has  lately  got  to  be  something  great.  If  you 
have,  then  please  tell  me  all  you  know  about  him." 

Gudrun  hurried  her  questions  out  in  an  eager, 
breathless  haste.  The  young  man  eyed  her  cu- 
riously. "You  will  excuse  me  this  morning,"  said 
he,  reaching  her  his  hand,  "  my  time  is  short. 
But  you  will  see  me  again  before  many  days,  and 
then  I  shall  tell  you  all  you  wish  to  know.  I 
have  a  friend  waiting  for  me  out  in  the  road. 
Farewell." 

Gudrun  was  so  astonished  that  she  could  not 
even  find  words  to  return  his  parting  salutation. 
Half  an  hour  later  she  was  still  standing  on  the 
spot  where  he  had  left  her,  wondering  how  all 
this  would  end ;  for  she  had  no  doubt  that  the 
friend  on  the  road  was  Gunnar. 
12 


266  GUNNAR. 


Never  had  the  little  cottage  at  Henjmnhei  seen 
a  day  like  this.  It  was  a  feast-day,  and  such  a 
feast-day  as  had  never  been  before,  and  would  not 
be  likely  ever  to  return.  On  the  bench  out  under 
the  drooping  birches  sat  old  Gunhild,  holding  the 
young  artist's  hands  in  hers,  gazing  into  his  face 
with  tear-wet  eyes,  and  assuring  herself  that  it  was 
just  ^That  she  always  had  said,  that  the  blessed 
child  would  be  sure  to  turn  out  right,  whatever 
they  said  of  him.  Opposite,  on  a  three-legged 
stool,  sat  Thor  in  his  new  jacket,  quiet  as  usual 
and  of  few  words.  Still  there  was  none  who  would 
have  questioned  which  was  the  happiest  man  in 
the  valley  that  day,  and  Thor  himself  least  of  all. 
He  had  taken  a  holiday,  and  sat  smoking  his  after- 
noon pipe.  On  the  ground,  a  few  feet  distant,  lay 
Vogt,  leisurely  puffing  away  at  a  cigar,  and  other- 
wise dividing  his  attention  between  the  family 
and  the  huge  overhanging  rock,  at  which  now 
and  then  he  cast  fearful  glances,  as  if  he  were  not 
quite  sure  that  it  was  firmly  fixed.  Gunnar  was 
the  one  who  led  in  the  conversation ;  for  of  course 
he  had  to  tell  all  that  had  happened  to  him,  from 


THE  RETURN.  267 


the  time  he  had  left  home,  and  Thor  and  Gunhild 
listened  with  enchantment.  It  did  not  escape  his 
observation  that,  at  one  or  two  points  in  his  nar- 
rative, his  father  turned  his  head  abruptly,  and 
suddenly  found  some  interesting  object  across  the 
river.  Vogt  also  would  throw  in  a  remark  here 
and  there,  either  reminding  his  friend  of  some  im- 
portant circumstance  which  had  been  forgotten,  or 
commenting  upon  his  report  whenever  he  put  too 
modest  an  estimate  upon  his  own  merits.  Thus  the 
afternoon  passed  away,  until  about  five  o'clock. 
Then  Vogt  announced  that  he  was  expected  at  the 
parsonage,  and  Gunnar  —  well,  Gunnar  had  also 
an  errand  which  would  admit  of  no  postponement. 
Ragnhild  was  at  the  saeter.  To-day  was  Satur- 
day ;  her  week  would  be  out  to-morrow,  and  then 
Gudrun  would  come.  There  was  no  time  to  be 
lost.  A  hundred  wild  longings  drove  him  onward, 
and,  springing  from  stone  to  stone,  he  hurried  up 
the  steep  mountain-path.  It  was  the  path  he  had 
climbed  so  often  before ;  everj'  old  fir,  every  moss- 
grown  rock,  he  knew.  The  shadows  were  growing 
longer  ;  a  lonely  thrush  warbled  his  soft  melodies 


268  GUNNAR. 


in  the  dusky  crowns  overhead ;  the  river  roared  in 
the  distance  with  a  strange,  sonorous  solemnity, 
as  if  it  were  afraid  to  break  the  evening's  peace  ; 
here  and  there  the  forest  opened  as  by  a  sudden 
miracle,  and  through  the  space  between  the  mighty 
trunks  he  could  see  the  peaceful  valley  with  its 
green  fields  and  red-painted  farm-houses  stretched 
out  in  the  deep  below ;  a  gauze  of  light  bluish 
smoke  hung  over  the  tops  of  the  lower  forest  re- 
gions ;  and  underneath  lay  the  fjord,  clear,  calm, 
and  ethereal,  mirroring  the  sun-warm  forms  of 
mountains,  clouds,  and  landscape  in  its  lucid  depth. 
It  was  indeed  a  sight  for  a  painter;  and  still 
the  painter  had  but  little  time  to  bestow  upon 
it  at  this  moment.  The  sun  already  hung  low 
over  the  western  glaciers,  and  glinted  through 
the  trees,  wherever  the  massive  heads  of  the 
pines  opened  a  passage.  The  day  had  been 
warm ;  but  the  air  of  the  highlands  was  cool 
and  refreshing.  He  had  now  gained  the  region 
where  the  heather  and  dwarf-birch  begin  to  min- 
gle with  and  gradually  supplant  the  statelier 
growth  of  the  forest.  The  slow  measured  beat 


THE  RETURN.  269 


of  the  bittern's  wing  and  the  plaintive  cry  of 
the  curlew  were  for  a  long  while  the  only  sounds. 
Having  recognized  the  rock  from  which  on  that 
eventful  night  he  had  beheld  the  merry  scenes 
of  the  St.  John's  hill,  he  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  to  pause  and  recall  the  situation  to 
his  mind.  Then  a  clear,  ringing  yodle,  followed 
by  the  call  of  a  loor,  shook  the  evening  air, 
while  the  echo  answered  from  all  the  four  cor- 
ners of  heaven.  He  sprang  up,  held  his  breath, 
and  listened.  The  loor  sounded  again,  and  the 
same  clear,  ringing  voice  sang  out  in  the  four 
tones  of  the  yodle,  a»  it  were  right  above  his 
head :  — 

"Come,  children  all, 
That  hear  my  call,  — 
Brynhilda  fair 
With  nut-brown  hair ! 
Come,  Little  Rose, 
Ere  day  shall  close  ; 
And  Birchen  Bough, 
My  own  dear  cow ; 
And  Morning  Pride, 
And  Sunny  Side  ;  — 
Come,  children  dear, 


270  GUNNAR. 


For  night  draws  near. 
Come,  children  ! " 

There  never  was  another  voice  like  that ;  it  was 
Ragnhild,  calling  home  her  cattle.  In  the  next 
moment  the  highlands  resounded  with  the  peal 
of  bells  and  the  noisy  lowing  of  the  cows.  Peep- 
ing through  the  trees,  he  saw  her  standing  on  a 
bare  crag  not  far  above  him.  She  looked  taller, 
paler,  and  more  slender  than  the  last  time  he 
saw  her,  but  more  wondrously  fair  than  even 
his  fancy  had  dared  to  picture  her.  She  held 
the  loor  in  her  hand,  and  stood  bending  for- 
ward, and  half  leaning  on.  it.  Her  hair  hung  in 
golden  profusion  down  over  her  shoulders,  and 
as  the  warm  rays  of  the  evening  sun  fell  upon 
her,  it  shone  like  a  halo.  His  first  impulse  was 
to  call  up  to  her;  but  just  as  he  had  opened 
his  mouth,  she  yodled  again,  then  sang  out  her 
call  to  the  same  melody,  only  substituting  other 
names,  and  ended  with  a  long,  alluring  note 
from  the  loor.  Again  the  echo  played  with  her 
voice,  the  cattle  lowed,  and  the  sound  of  the 
bells,  the  waving  of  the  tree-tops  in  the  under- 


THE  RETURN.  271 


wood,  and  the  creaking  of  dry  branches  marked 
the  progress  of  the  returning  flocks.  He  bent 
the  dense  copse  aside  with  his  hands,  and  began 
to  climb ;  he  saw  her  glance  wandering  out  over 
the  valley,  then  farther  and  farther  away,  until 
it  lost  itself  in  dim  immensity.  There  was  a 
nameless  longing  in  that  look.  To  him  it  was  a 
blessed  assurance. 

"  Ragnhild ! "  cried  he,  grasping  a  loose  tree- 
root  and  swinging  himself  upward.  She  paused, 
smiled,  held  the  hand  up  to  her  ear  as  if  to 
listen.  There  was  no  surprise  in  her  smile,  but 
quiet,  confident  joy.  Again  her  eye  sought  the 
distance,  as  if  the  distance  had  given  her  an- 
swer. 

"Ragnhild!"  called  he  again,  "Ragnhild!" 
and  he  was  now  but  a  few  rods  away.  She 
stooped  over  the  brink  and  saw  him  standing 
on  a  stone  below. 

"Ragnhild,"  said  he  "do  you  not  know  meT' 

A  slight  tremor  ran  through  her  frame ;  she 
looked  once  more,  then  in  her  bewilderment 
turned  and  started  to  run.  But  swifter  than 


272  GUNNAR. 


thought  he  was  at  her  side,  and  held  her  hand 
in  his.  A  deep  crimson  gushed  over  her  cheek, 
and  from  under  the  drooping  eyelids  a  tear 
stole  down  and  lighted  on  the  blade  of  her  sil- 
ver brooch. 

"Ragnhild,  dearest,"  cried  he  with  sudden  fer- 
vor, "have  I  changed  so  much  for  the  worse 
that  you  no  longer  know  me  ? "  And  waiting 
no  answer,  he  flung  his  arm  round  her  waist 
and  drew  her  closely  up  to  him.  She  let  her 
head  fall  on  his  shoulder,  and  gave  free  course 
to  her  tears. 

"But,  Ragnhild,  beloved,"  continued  he,  setting 
her  gently  down  at  his  side  in  the  heather,  "  is 
this  the  greeting  you  give  me?  Are  tears  the 
only  welcome  you  have  for  me?" 

"  Gunnar,"  answered  she,  now  raising  her  head, 
and    the   brightest   smile    of    happiness    beamed 
through  the  tears,  "I  am  so  very  foolish.     But. 
then  you  looked  so  fine  and  —  and  —  so  foreign 
that  I  knew  not  what  to  say,  and  so  I  cried." 

"  Foreign,   Ragnhild !      Do    I   look   foreign   to 

you  I" 


THE  RETURN.  273 


But  with  the  same  open,  trusting  smile  she 
met  his  anxious,  searching  glance,  while  she  an- 
swered, "No,  Gunnar,  not  foreign.  But  you 
know  I  cannot  in  a  moment  overcome  my  won- 
der; I  can  only  sit  and  look  at  you.  And  if 
you  knew  how  I  have  longed  for  this  day!" 

"  My  fairest,  sweetest  girl !  and  you  have 
longed  for  me?" 

He  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her 
lips.  "You  shall  long  no  more  now,  Ragn- 
hild,  for  from  this  time  I  shall  always  be  with 
you." 

She  glanced  anxiously  up  into  his  face,  as  if 
the  words  suggested  something  which  in  her  joy 
she  had  forgotten. 

"You  will  always  be  with  me,  Gunnar,"  said 
she  as  if  to  convince  herself,  —  "  always  1 " 

"Yes,  beloved.  And  how  beautiful  you  have 
grown,  Ragnhild  !  The  same  as  you  ever  were, 
and  still  not  the  same.  How  many  a  time  I 
sat  at  my  garret  window  in  the  city,  late  in 
the  night,  and  thought  of  you  and  longed  for 
you !  And  then  often  I  would  say  to  myself, 
12*  R 


274  GUNNAR. 


•*!  wonder  how  Ragnhild  looks  now,  and  I  won- 
der what  Ragnhild  is  doing  or  thinking  now.'  " 
"  0,  how  delightful ! "  cried  she  in  happy  sur- 
prise; "why,  isn't  it  strange,  GunnaH —  it  is 
the  very  thing  I  have  always  been  thinking, 
when  I  sat  in  my  window  in  the  gable,  and  the 
woods  and  the  fjord  and  even  the  river  lay 
hushed  into  a  great  stillness.  0,  how  many 
thoughts  of  you  and  longings  for  you  took  flight 
then  through  the  stillness  !  And  whenever  spring 
came,  I  was  always  so  anxious  to  hear  the  cuckoo 
the  first  time  in  the  east,  for  you  know  that 
means  a  wedding.  And,  do  you  know,  always 
before,  during  these  years,  I  would  be  sure  to 
hear  him  in  the  north,  which  means  grief.  But 
this  year,  when  I  never  thought  of  it,  he  sung 
out  in  a  fir  right  over  my  head,  and  that  is  the 
best  of  all.  I  sat  as  quiet  as  a  mouse,  and 
counted  on  my  fingers  how  long  he  should  sit, 
while  I  could  repeat  my  wish  three  times.  And 
for  every  time  T  whispered  your  name,  he  sung. 
Then  I  was  no  longer  in  doubt,  for  I  knew  you 
would  come,  Gunnar." 


THE  RETURN.  275 


And  now  came  his  turn  to  tell  the  history 
of  his  pilgrimage.  And  he  told  her  all,  and 
in  strong,  glowing  pictures,  such  as  only  love 
can  paint,  and  in  words  such  as  love  only  can 
utter.  When  he  had  finished,  she  sat  still  si- 
lent, gazing  up  into  the  tree-tops,  and  smiling 
to  herself,  as  if  rejoicing  in  the  contemplation 
of  some  happy  thought. 

"  Ragnhild,"  said  Gunnar,  "  what  are  you 
thinking  about  1" 

"Ah,"  answered  she,  "I  was  only  wondering 
at  your  beautiful  words.  They  flow  like  a 
poem." 

"And  if  you  could  read  that  poem,  Ragn- 
hild," cried  he,  "you  would  know  that  its  bur- 
den had  ever  been  you,  and  would  ever  be  you." 


XVI. 


A   SUNDAY  AT  RIMUL. 

one  who  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting 
Rimul  could  have  helped  noticing  how 
clean  everything  looked  there.  Indeed, 
the  widow  of  Rimul  had  become  quite  proverbial 
in  the  valley  for  her  tidiness,  and  people  never 
talked  about  it  without  a  sneer;  for  what  busi- 
ness had  she  to  sweep  and  wash  and  scour  more 
than  other  honest  housewives  in  the  parish? 
Everybody,  of  course,  had  a  thorough-going  house- 
cleaning  before  St.  John's  Day  and  before  the 
three  great  festivals  of  the  year,  and  that,  most 
women  found,  was  as  much  as  they  could  man- 
age ;  and  what  would  be  the  use,  then,  of  wast- 
ing one's  precious  time  by  distributing  through 
ten  days  what  might  just  as  well  be  done  all 
at  once1?  Thus  ran  the  parish  gossip.  But  the 


A  SUNDAY  AT  RIMUL.  277 

widow  had  her  own  notions  on  this  subject,  as 
indeed  on  every  other,  and  if  she  chose  to  sweep 
and  clean  her  house  every  Saturday,  she  was 
at  all  events  herself  the  loser,  if  indeed  there 
was  any  loss  about  it.  She  had  also  taken  par- 
ticular care  duly  to  impress  this  necessity  on 
her  daughter's  mind ;  for  it  had  been  an  ancient 
usage  in  the  family.  "And,"  said  she,  "when 
God  rested  on  the  seventh  day,  it  was  after  hav- 
ing finished  the  whole  work  of  creation,  even 
to  the  least  blade  of  grass  or"  fringe  of  a  cloud, 
and  not  with  some  bit  of  work  lying  over  until 
next  Saturday." 

This  morning  Ragnhild  had  come  home  from 
the  saeter  earlier  than  usual.  In  the  large  sit- 
ting-room with  the  many  windows  she  found  her 
mother  seated  at  the  table,  turning  over  the 
leaves  of  her  Bible.  The  floor  was  strewn  with 
small  tassels  of  juniper-needles,  which  spread 
their  fresh  fragrance  through  the  whole  house. 
In  the  four  corners  of  the  hearth  stood  four 
young  birch-trees,  remnants  of  the  St.  John's 
Day  decorations.  It  was  not  Sermon- Sunday  to- 


278  GUNNAR. 


day,  so  there  could  be  no  question  about  going 
to  church ;  but  on  such  days  it  was  not  uncom- 
mon that  some  one  of  the  neighbors  would  drop 
in  during  the  forenoon,  and  chat  with  the  widow 
about  the  state  of  the  crops  or  the  prospects  of 
the  fishery.  Therefore,  said  Ingeborg,  it  was 
always  well  to  read  one's  gospel  and  sermon 
early  in  the  day,  lest,  by  delaying,  one  should  be 
altogether  prevented  from  making  an  appropri- 
ate use  of  the  sabbath. 

Raguhild  went  to  the  window  and  stood  for 
a  moment  looking  down  the  road,  then  hurried 
to  the  hearth,  and  out  of  the  door  to  look  for 
something,  then  forgot  what  she  was  looking  for, 
and  again  returned  to  the  window,  where  she 
began  to  drum  on  the  panes  for  want  of  other 
occupation.  An  hour  passed,  but  no  neighbor 
made  his  appearance,  llagnhild  grew  more  and 
more  restless.  It  was  nearly  noon  when  at  last 
steps  were  heard  out  in  the  hall  and  two  men 
entered.  The  one  was  Thor  Henjumhei,  the 
other  a  young  city-dressed  gentleman.  The  wid- 
ow raised  her  eyes,  looked  quietly  at  the  men, 
and  remained  sitting. 


A  SUNDAY  AT  RIMUL.  279 

"  Good  morning,  Ingeborg  Rimul,"  said  Thor, 
approaching  the  table  and  offering  his  hand, 
"and  thanks  for  last  meeting.  It  is  blessed 
haying  weather  we  have  had  this  week." 

Ingeborg  shook  Thor's  hand,  and  returned  his 
greeting.  The  daughter  cast  a  stealthy  glance 
at  the  young  gentleman,  but  quickly  turned 
again,  and  stood  pertinaciously  drumming  on  the 
window. 

"Find  yourself  a  seat,  Thor,"  continued  the 
mistress  of  Rimul ;  "  and  the  young  man  you 
bring  with  you,  it  is  probably  your  son,  —  Gun- 
nar,  was  n't  that  his  name  1  —  I  can  recognize 
him  by  his  likeness  to  yourself,  Thor." 

"  I  hardly  think  I  could  have  traced  that  like- 
ness myself,  "  observed  Thor ;  "  but  they  say 
strangers  can  see  such  things  better." 

"So  they  say,"  was  the  widow's  reply. 

The  worthy  houseman  in  the  mean  time  had 
taken  a  seat  at  the  window  opposite  the  widow, 
and  sat  leaning  forward  with  his  elbows  resting 
on  his  knees,  and  deliberately  turning  his  cap 
in  his  hands,  as  if  weighing  well  what  he  was 


280    .  GUNNAR. 


about  to  say.  The  son  remained  standing.  For 
a  long  while  no  one  spoke. 

"Ingeborg  Rimul,"  began  Thor  at  last,  and 
his  eye  met  the  widow's  stern  glance  unflinch- 
ingly, "it  is  about  this  son  of  mine  I  have  come 
to-day  to  see  you." 

Ingeborg  opened  her  eyes  widely  and  gazed  as 
if  she  would  gaze  him  into  atoms;  but  it  had 
no  effect  upon  Thor.  He  sat  there  calm  and 
imperturbable. 

"It  may  seem  strange  that  I  should  come  to 
you  on  such  an  errand  as  the  one  I  have  to-day," 
continued  he,  "but  we  have  all  of  us  to  go 
through  many  strange  and  unexpected  experi- 
ences before  we  are  done  with  this  world.  And 
you  know  yourself,  Ingeborg  Rimul,  that  he  who 
has  but  an  only  child,  will  do  much  for  that 
child's  sake.  Now,  what  I  came  to  propose  to 
you  is  this.  It  hardly  can  be  an  unknown  thing 
to  you  that  Gunnar,  my  son,  while  he  was  yet 
a  mere  child,  took  a  great  fancy  to  your  Ragn- 
hild,  and  if  her  own  word  can  be  trusted  in 
such  a  matter,  she  was  not  very  old  when  she 


A  SUNDAY  AT  RIMUL.  281 

first  discovered  that  he  also  had  a  place  in  her 
heart.  And  this  is  no  longer  a  trifling,  childish 
affair,  now,  Ingeborg  Rimul ;  for  when  love 
springs  up  so  early  and  grows  with  the  years, 
it  is  hard  to  root  it  out.  Three  years  ago  I 
should  probably  have  had  many  doubts  and  mis- 
givings before  venturing  to  speak  to  you  of 
such  a  proposition  ;  but  the  son  I  offer  you  to- 
day can  speak  for  himself,  and  I  dare  say  needs 
no  apology  from  his  father.  He  has  learned  his 
profession  well,  the  newspapers  say,  and  is  well 
worthy  of  the  love  of  any  Norse  maiden." 

It  is  difficult  to  tell  how  long  it  was  since 
Thor  had  made  a  speech  like  this;  but  one 
idea  brought  two  others  with  it,  and  love  and 
a  slight  but  very  pardonable  feeling  of  paternal 
pride  lent  warmth  and  power  to  his  words.  He 
did  not  observe  Ragnhild,  who,  attracted  by  his 
eloquence,  had  approached  and  now  stood  on 
tiptoe  only  a  few  steps  from  him,  listening  with 
open  mouth  and  an  anxious  interest  expressed 
in  features  and  attitude ;  but  Gunnar  did  see 
her,  and  found  it  hard  to  check  his  impatience. 


282  GUNNAR. 


And  her  mother  also  saw  her,  and  her  heart 
grew  heavy;  for  she  felt  her  strength  failing 
her. 

. "  Thor  Henjumhei,"  said  she,  with  a  visible 
effort  to  appear  composed,  "I  do  not  doubt 
that  your  son  is  a  worthy  young  'man,  or  that 
he  knows  his  profession  well.  And  I  feel  as 
sure  as  you  do  yourself  that  there  are  maidens 
enough  who  would  be  more  than  happy  to  be 
called  his  wife.  But  just  on  this  account  I 
wonder  that  a  man  of  your  sense  and  judgment 
can  come  here  and  ask  for  him  what  you  know 
yourself  he  cannot  get.  For  it  must  be  well 
known  to  you,  Thor,  that  Ragnhild's  hand  is 
no  longer  her  own,  neither  have  I  the  right  to 
give  it  away." 

The  daughter,  knowing  from  a  former  occa- 
sion her  mother's  mind  on  this  subject,  dared 
not  interpose,  and  she  turned  away  and  wept. 
And  Gunnar?  Well,  under  such  trying  circum- 
stances he  may  perhaps  be  forgiven  for  forget- 
ting the  rules  of  parish  propriety ;  for  when 
the  sunshine,  after  a  minute's  absence  caused 


A  SUNDAY  AT  RIMUL.  283 

by  'the  passing  of  a  cloud,  again  visited  the 
large  sitting-room,  the  widow  of  Rinml  rubbed 
her  eyes  and  would  gladly  have  persuaded  her- 
self that  she  was  not  quite  awake;  but  there 
was  no  denying  that,  as  the  sunshine  stole  in 
through  the  south  window,  it  found  the  heiress 
of  Rimul  with  her  hands  clasped  round  the 
houseman's  son's  neck,  and  with  her  sunny  head 
closely  pressed  to  the  houseman's  son's  bosom. 

"  Thor  Henjumhei,"  cried,  Ingeborg,  helplessly, 
and  rising  from  the  table,  "take  your  son  away  ! " 

But  Thor  did  not  stir. 

"Thor  Henjumhei—" 

Then  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  but  no 
one  answered;  the  door  opened,  and  in  came  a 
tall,  slender  youth;  he  stooped  a  little,  wore 
spectacles,  and  had  the  long-tasselled  college  cap 
in  his  hand. 

"  Mr.  Vogt,"  said  Thor,  "  I  am  afraid  you  have 
come  here  in  an  unfortunate  moment." 

"  I  am  exceedingly  sorry  to  hear  that,"  replied 
Vogt,  "  and  if  my  presence  is  inopportune  — 

But  the  widow  of  Rirnul,  —  what  has  happened 


284  GUNNAR. 


to  her,  with  her  eyes  riveted  on  the  new-comer, 
and  that  ghastly  paleness  of  her  visage  1 

"  0  God,  my  God  ! "  groaned  she,  sinking  down 
into  the  nearest  chair,  "thou  hast  visited  me 
hard.  Thy  will  be  done."  And  Ingeborg  buried 
her  face  in  her  lap,  while  the  tears  fell  fast  from 
eyes  to  which  they  had  long  been  strangers,  — 
only  God  knows  how  long.  There  was  a  solemn 
stillness  in  the  large  sitting-room. 

"  Children,"  said  the  widow  at  length,  —  and  as 
she  lifted  her  tearful  eyes  Ragnhild,  her  daughter, 
and  Gunnar,  the  houseman's  son,  stood  before  her, 
—  "may  the  Lord  bless  you  now  and  forever! 
And  if  I  have  struggled  long  and  hard  against 
you,"  added  she,  taking  their  right  hands  and 
joining  them  together  in  hers,  "  think  not  that  it 
was  because  my  heart  was  against  you." 

Then  Thor,  old  Thor  Henjumhei,  stretched  out 
his  rough  hand  to  the  widow  of  Rimul,  and  the 
widow  grasped  it,  looked  into  Thor's  faithful  eye, 
and  shook  his  hand  heartily. 

"  Ingeborg,"  said  Thor,  "  God  bless  you  for  that 
word." 


A   SUNDAY  AT  RIMUL.  285 

But  Vogt,  —  how  did  he  account  for  all  the 
commotion  occasioned  by  his  arrival  1  There  he 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  with  a  blank, 
bewildered  stare,  turning  now  to  one,  now  to  an- 
other, but  unable  to  utter  a  single  syllable.  Yogt 
knew  not,  perhaps,  that  in  the  widow  of  Birnul's 
eyes  he  resembled  his  father  as  one  drop  of  water 
resembles  another  ;  neither  did  he  know  what 
long-buried  memories  those  well-known  features 
called  back  to  the  widow's  mind.  So  he  remained 
standing  as  if  he  had  dropped  down  from  the 
clouds,  until  at  last  old  Thor,  seeing  his  helpless- 
ness, rose,  and  came  to  his  assistance. 

"  Ingeborg  Rimul,"  said  Thor,  taking  the  col- 
legian by  the  hand  and  leading  him  up  to  the 
mistress  of  Rirnul,  "  this  is  Mr.  Vogt,  a  young  col- 
legian, and  the  friend  and  benefactor  of  Gunnar, 
our  son." 

Then  Ingeborg  grasped  the  young  man's  hands, 
held  them  long  in  hers,  and  gazed  earnestly  into 
his  face. 

"  Mr.  Vogt,"  said  she,  and  she  paused,  as  if  the 
word  sounded  strange  on  her  lips,  —  "  Mr.  Vogt, 


286  GUNNAR. 


your  features  were  once  familiar  to  us  here  in  the 
valley.  I  bid  them  welcome  again,  and  hope  this 
will  not  be  the  last  time  they  are  seen  at  Rimul." 

Vogt  stammered  something  about  his  pleasure 
at  being  present  on  this  happy  occasion  ;  then 
Gunnar  and  Ragnhild  came  up  and  joined  in  the 
conversation  ;  and,  before  long,  the  happiness  they 
all  felt  loosed  their  tongues  and  made  each  one 
feel  at  home  with  the  other. 

Thor,  in  the  mean  while,  had  despatched  a  boat 
for  his  old  mother,  and  the  widow  of  Rimul  had 
sent  a  horse  and  a  carryall  to  receive  her  at  the 
landing-place  down  by  the  river. 

Old  Gunhild  soon  made  her  appearance,  where- 
upon followed  a  little  scene  such  as  only  grand- 
mothers can  act,  and  none  but  a  genre-painter  can 
depict. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  pastor,  who  had 
been  preaching  in  a  neighboring  parish,  came 
riding  past  the  Rimul  buildings,  and,  as  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  it  was  a  good  while  since  he 
had  paid  the  widow  a  visit,  and  that  he  was  much 
in  need  of  a  glass  of  milk  to  slake  his  thirst,  he 


A  SUNDAY  AT  R1MUL.  287 

dismounted  from  his  horse,  hitched  it  to  a  post  at 
the  wayside,  and  in  another  minute  entered  the 
well-built  mansion.  The  Rimul  yard  was  in 
its  usual  holiday  trim,  everything  in  its  place, 
and  the  staircase  and  the  hall  fragrant  with  the 
fresh  juniper.  There  was  certainly  nothing  un- 
usual in  this,  and  still,  as  he  stood  in  the  hall,  the 
pastor  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  impression  that 
something  extraordinary  had  happened  ;  but  when 
he  opened  the  door  and  found  the  Rimul  and  the 
Henjumhei  families  gathered  as  in  council  round  the 
big  table  at  the  south  window,  when  he  saw  Thor 
seated  at  the  widow's  side,  and  Gunnar  whispering 
in  Ragnhild's  ear,  what  need  had  he  then  of  any 
further  explanation  1  But  the  pastor  was  too  much 
of  a  diplomat  to  betray  that  he  was  previously  in- 
formed. He  had  already  resolved  to  afford  every 
one  the  satisfaction  of  being  the  first  to  proclaim 
to  him  the  happy  tidings. 

And  no  sooner  had  the  worthy  clergyman  en- 
tered the  room  than  the  widow  herself,  with  not  a 
little  pride  and  formality,  informed  him  of  the 
happy  occasion  of  their  rejoicing  ;  told  him,  what 


288  GUNNAR. 


he  already  knew,  of  Gmmar's  wonderful  proficiency 
in  his  art  and  great  prospects  for  the  future,  and 
finally  requested  the  honor  of  his  company  as  well 
for  this  evening  as  for  the  wedding,  which,  accord- 
ing to  agreement,  would  take  place  a  month  from 
date.  It  is  needless  to  add  that  the  pastor's  kind 
face  then  beamed  even  more  than  usual,  and  that 
he  congratulated  both  the  old  folks  and  the  young 
with  a  deep-felt  earnestness  which  went  to  the 
heart  as  surely  as  from  the  heart  it  came.  And 
when  at  the  supper-table  he  gave  the  toast  of  the 
betrothal,  and  spoke  of  the  sacreduess  of  love,  of 
the  triumph  of  native  worth  over  prejudice  and 
all  obstacles,  and  of  the  great  and  holy  mission  of 
the  artist,,  then  tears  glistened  in  the  eyes  of  all, 
their  cheeks  glowed,  their  hearts  beat  more  quickly, 
and  they  were  all  happy. 

But  when  the  supper  was  at  an  end,  —  the  ale 
^drank,  the  toasts  finished,  —  when  the  sun  grew 
red  and  weary,  as  evening  was  sinking  over  the 
valley,  and  the  peace  of  evening  into  the  hearts 
and  minds  of  all,  then  Gunnar  and  Ragnhild  sat 
together  on  the  bridge  of  the  barn  out  in  the  yard, 


A   SUNDAY  AT  RIMUL.  289 

and  saw  the  gold  of  the  sunset  burning  on  the  far 
steeples  of  the  mountains. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Ragnhild,"  said  he,  letting 
his  fingers  glide  through  her  rich  hair,  while  her 
head  rested  on  his  shoulder,  "  I  think  it  was  on 
this  very  spot,  about  fourteen  years  ago,  when  I 
first  met  you,  and  —  " 

"0  yes,"  answered  she,  dreamily,  "the  time 
when  you  asked  me  if  I  were  the  Hulder." 

"And  you  were  my  Hulder,  Ragnhild,"  said 
he,  earnestly,  and  pressed  her  more  tightly  to  his 
heart,  "  my  fair,  my  good,  my  beautiful  Hulder." 


13 


XVII. 

THE   OCEAN. 

UGUST  has  come.  The  fjord  still  lies 
glorying  in  the  life  of  the  summer,  the 
sunshine  glitters  still  in  the  clear  waters, 
the  light  birch-tree  stands  trembling  over  its  frail 
image  in  the  cool  tide,  the  thrush  warbles  in  the 
mountain  glens,  and  the  screaming  hosts  of  sea- 
birds  drift  round  the  lonely  crags,  or  stream  over 
the  heavens  with  the  ebbing  and  flooding  sounds 
of  huge,  airy  surges. 

There  is  life  on  the  fjord  in  August,  a  teeming, 
overflowing  life.  All  nature  smiles  then ;  but  in 
its  very  smile  there  is  consciousness  of  decay,  —  a 
foreboding  of  the  coming  night  and  of  the  heaven- 
rending  November  storms. 

Yes,  August  has  come,  —  come  to  the  fjord  and 
to  the  valley  and  to  Gunnar  and  Ragnhild.  She 


THE   OCEAN.  291 


is  no  longer  Ragnhild  Rimul  now,  she  is  Ragnhild 
Henjumhei,  the  wife  of  Gunnar  Henjumhei,  the 
artist.  And  no  one  would  have  doubted  that  she 
was  Gunnar's  wife  who  had  seen  the  two  together 
that  night,  when  they  left  their  native  valley  ;  for 
it  was  much  that  she  left  behind,  —  mother,  home, 
and  country;  but,  thought  she,  it  was  more  that  she 
had  gained.  Now  it  was  morning,  or  rather  night, 
for  the  sun  had  not  yet  risen.  The  wheels  of  the 
steamboat  lashed  the  water  into  foam,  as  it  rushed 
onward  and  onward  through  gulfs  and  straits,  on- 
ward in  its  way  to  the  ocean. 

At  the  prow  of  the  steamboat  stood  Gunnar 
Henjumhei  and  his  wife,  she  leaning  on  her  hus- 
band's arm,  and  now  and  then  glancing  half  tim- 
idly back  at  the  dear  old  glaciers  and  mountain- 
peaks,  as  they  faded  one  by  one  on  the  far  horizon. 
His  eye  was  turned  toward  the  future,  peering 
steadfastly  through  the  light  fogs  of  the  morn- 
ing. 

"  Gunnar,"  said  she,  and  a  half-sad,  half-happy 
smile  flitted  over  her  features,  "  how  strange  to  be 
leaving  all  behind  me  that  I  know,  and  to  sail  out 


292  GUNNAR. 


into  a  great  foreign  world,  where  all  is  unknown 
to  me,  —  except  you  !  "  added  she  in  a  whisper. 
And  as  the  thought  grew  upon  her,  she  pressed 
the  arm  she  held,  and  clung  more  closely  to  him. 

"  Ragnhild,"  answered  he,  "  it  is  not  a  foreign 
world.  But  see  how  the  great  sun  is  rising  —  over 
the  ocean." 

And  he  pointed  toward  the  east,  where  the  sun 
rose  —  over  land  and  ocean. 


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